I suggested
that she should open with 'Lohengrin,' and she agreed. The price was
stiffish, but I didn't quarrel with that. I never drive bargains. She
is twenty-two now, or twenty-three; in a few more years she will want
five hundred pounds a night, and I shall have to pay it."

"And how did she meet you?"

"With just the same cold politeness. And I understand her less than
ever."

"She isn't English, I suppose?" I put in.

"English!" Sir Cyril ejaculated. "No one ever heard of a great English
soprano. Unless you count Australia as England, and Australia wouldn't
like that. No. That is another of her mysteries. No one knows where
she emerged from. She speaks English and French with absolute
perfection. Her Italian accent is beautiful. She talks German freely,
but badly. I have heard that she speaks perfect Flemish,--which is
curious,--but I do not know."

"Well," said Sullivan, nodding his head, "give me the theatrical as
opposed to the operatic star. The theatrical star's bad enough, and
mysterious enough, and awkward enough. But, thank goodness, she isn't
polite--at least, those at the Diana aren't. You can speak your mind
to 'em. And that reminds me, Smart, about that costume of Effie's in
the first act of 'My Queen.' Of course you'll insist--"

"Don't talk your horrid shop now, Sullivan," his wife said; and
Sullivan didn't.

The prelude to the third act was played, and the curtain went up on
the bridal chamber of Elsa and Lohengrin. Sir Cyril Smart rose as if
to go, but lingered, eying the stage as a general might eye a
battle-field from a neighboring hill. The music of the two processions
was heard approaching from the distance. Then, to the too familiar
strains of the wedding march, the ladies began to enter on the right,
and the gentlemen on the left. Elsa appeared amid her ladies, but
there was no Lohengrin in the other crowd. The double chorus
proceeded, and then a certain excitement was visible on the stage, and
the conductor made signs with his left hand.

"Smart, what's wrong? Where's Alresca?" It was Sullivan who spoke.

"He'll sail in all right," Sir Cyril said calmly. "Don't worry."

The renowned impresario had advanced nearer to the front of our box,
and was standing immediately behind my chair. My heart was beating
violently with apprehension under my shirt-front. Where was Alresca?
It was surely impossible that he should fail to appear! But he ought
to have been on the stage, and he was no