hone like
pearly gold against a curtain of brown velvet. Presently she felt that
some one was watching her with peculiar intentness. Little spangles of
sensation crept over the back of her head. It was as though a little
electric feather were being drawn softly along her hair. Then Jean de
Reszke began to sing. It was a wild Hungarian folk-song that he sang
with that warm, wild voice of his. The words meant nothing to her. The
voice told her that it was a song of love and the despair even of love
fulfilled.

De Reszke finished his song on a slow, melancholy note like a ray of
fading sunlight in autumn. All the melancholy of late autumn seemed to
penetrate Sophy's bosom. Then a quick revulsion of feeling seized her.
That "something"--that "something" that was going to "happen" was near
her--drawing closer.

Varesca's handsome little face bent smiling towards her.

"Mrs. Chesney, I have a friend who cannot wait for the music to be done
for being introduced to you. May I bring him?--the Marchese Amaldi--a
good friend of mine." Varesca's rather quaint English sounded pleasant
to her.

"Why, yes--do," she said, smiling at him.

"Marco----" said Varesca, half turning. Amaldi, who had stood just
behind Sophy, came forward. They looked gravely at each other while she
gave him her hand. Before they could speak, the girl who had been at
first singing began another song. For a second longer, Sophy and Amaldi
continued to look at each other in that quiet, serious way. Then she
turned her eyes on the singer. That had been a strange feeling--the
feeling which had come over her as she met Amaldi's eyes. It was as if
they were recognising each other, rather than just becoming acquainted.
As the girl went on with the rather tiresome song, Sophy turned her head
and glanced at him again. This time he smiled, very slightly. She smiled
in answer. Yes; it was really as if they were old friends meeting thus
unexpectedly again.

And how charming his face was--dark and irregular! Now, again, that she
saw him without looking at him, in that way women have, she thought he
had a reserved air. She always noticed at once the colour of people's
eyes. Amaldi's were a clear olive. His figure showed a lithe symmetry as
he leaned relaxed against the curtain of brown velvet. He was not very
tall; but, though slender, he looked strong. It was odd how everything
about him seemed familiar to her.

IV

The songs followed one another quickly