you; and she can afford
to marry for love," he added.

"I'm thankful that I can, too," the other answered fervently.

His friend laughed at the fervor.

"You make me think of her teacher," he said. "She sings, and when she was
sixteen she meant to outrank Patti; she was lots homelier then."

"Oh, I say!" Jack cried. "I can believe 'most anything, but--"

Burnett laughed and then sobered.

"She was," he said solemnly; "she really and truly _was_. And her mother
said to her teacher,--there in Dresden: 'She will be the greatest soprano,
won't she?' And he said: 'Madame, she has only that one chance--to be _the_
greatest.'"

Jack laughed.

"But why 'Lorne'?" he asked suddenly. "Why not 'Burnett,' since she's your
uncle's child?"

"Oh, that's straight enough; there's a hyphen there. My uncle died and my
aunt married a title. My aunt's Lady Chiheleywicks, but the family name is
Lorne. And you pronounce my aunt's name Chix."

"I'm glad I know," said Jack.

"Oh, we're great on titles," said Burnett, modestly. "If the Boers hadn't
killed Col. Rosscott, Betty would have been a Lady, too, some day. But as
it is--" he added thoughtfully, "she's nothing but a widow."

"'Nothing but'!" Jack cried indignantly.

"Oh, well," said Burnett, "of course it's great, her being a widow--but
then she'd have been great the other way too."

"But if he was English and a colonel," Jack said suddenly, "he must have
been all of--"

"Fifty!" interposed Burnett; "oh, he was! Maybe more, but he dyed his
hair. It was a splendid match for her. It isn't every girl who can get a--"

Their conversation was suddenly cut short by voices, accompanied by a sort
of sweet and silky storm of little rustles and the sound of feet--little
feet--coming down the great hall. Aunt Mary's nephew felt himself suddenly
wondering if any other fellow present had such a tempest within his bosom
as he himself was conscious of attempting to regulate unperceived.

And then, after all, she wasn't among the influx! Miss Maude, was, though,
and he had to go up to her and talk to her; and terribly dull hard labor
it was.

While he was rolling the Sisyphus stone of conversation uphill for the
sixth or seventh time, Jack noticed a gentleman pass by and throw a more
than ordinarily interesting glance their way. He was a very well-built,
fairly good-sized man of thirty-five or forty years, with a handsome,
uninteresting face and heavy, sleepy dark eyes.

"Who is th