"Sketch! nonsense."

"Sir," said Lionel, with the seasonable extravagance of early youth, "my
friend would, I am sure, pay for the sitting--handsomely!"

"Ha!" said the manager, softened, "you speak like a gentleman, sir: but,
sir, Miss Juliet Araminta is under my protection; in fact, she is my
property. Call and speak to me about it to-morrow, before the first
performance begins, which is twelve o'clock. Happy to see any of your
friends in the reserved seats. Busy now, and--and--in short--excuse me
--servant, sir--servant, sir."

The Baron's manner left no room for further parley. Vance bowed, smiled,
and retreated. But meanwhile his young friend had seized the opportunity
to speak both to Waife and his grandchild; and when Vance took his arm
and drew him away, there was a puzzled, musing expression on Lionel's
face, and he remained silent till they had got through the press of such
stragglers as still loitered before the stage, and were in a quiet corner
of the sward. Stars and moon were then up,--a lovely summer night.

"What on earth are you thinking of, Lionel? I have put to you three
questions, and you have not answered one."

"Vance," answered Lionel, slowly, "the oddest thing! I am so
disappointed in that little girl,--greedy and mercenary!"

"Precocious villain! how do you know that she is greedy and mercenary?"

"Listen: when that surly old manager came up to you, I said something--
civil, of course--to Waife, who answered in a hoarse, broken voice, but