out into the quiet street with almost hopeless pathos. When
she descended from the cart to undertake the more prosaic occupation
of passing the hat beneath the windows, I could see that she limped
slightly, and that the hand with which she pushed back the heavy dark
hair under the hood was beautifully moulded. They were all mystery that
couple; not to be confounded for an instant with the common herd of
London street musicians. With what an air of the drawing-room did he
of the velvet coat help the singer into the cart, and with what elegant
abandon and ultra-dilettantism did he light a cigarette, reseat himself
at the piano, and weave Scots ballads into a charming impromptu! I
confess I wrapped my shilling in a bit of paper and dropped it over the
balcony with the wish that I knew the tragedy behind this little street
drama.

Willie Beresford was in a royal mood that night. You know the mood, in
which the heart is so full, so full, it overruns the brim. He bought
the entire stock of the lavender seller, and threw a shilling to
the mysterious singer for every song she sung. He even offered to
give--himself--to me! And oh! I would have taken him as gladly as ever
the lavender boy took the half-crown, had I been quite, quite sure of
myself! A woman with a vocation ought to be still surer than other women
that it is the very jewel of love she is setting in her heart, and not
a sparkling imitation. I gave myself wholly, or believed that I gave
myself wholly, to art, or what I believed to be art. And is there
anything more sacred than art?--Yes, one thing!

It happened something in this wise.

The singing had put us in a gentle mood, and after a long peroration
from Mr. Beresford, which I do not care to repeat, I said very softly
(blessing the Honourable Arthur's vociferous laughter at one of
Salemina's American jokes), "But I thought perhaps it was Francesca. Are
you quite sure?"

He intimated that if there were any fact in his repertory of which he
was particularly and absolutely sure it was this special fact.

"It is too sudden," I objected. "Plants that blossom on shipboard-"

"This plant was rooted in American earth, and you know it, Penelope. If
it chanced to blossom on the ship, it was because it had already budded
on the shore; it has borne transplanting to a foreign soil, and it
grows in beauty and strength every day: so no slurs, please, concerning
ocean-steamer hothouses."

"I cannot say yes, yet I dare n