ze world. A husband, if
it is your taste. Bose, if you please. Zen, I say, you shall, you shall
lofe a man. Let him tease and sting--ah! it will be magnifique: Aha! ze
voice will sharpen, go deep; yeas! to be a tale of blood. Lofe till you
could stab yourself:--Brava! But now? Little fool, I say!"

Emilia believed that she was verily forfeiting an empire. Her face wore
a soft look of delight. This renunciation of a splendid destiny for
Wilfrid's sake, seemed to make her worthier of him, and as Mr. Pericles
unrolled the list of her rejected treasures, her bosom heaved without a
regret.

"Ha!" Mr. Pericles flung away from her: "go and be a little
gutter-girl!"

The musical connoisseur drew on his own disappointment alone for
eloquence. Had he been thinking of her, he might have touched cunningly
on her love for Italy. Music was the passion of the man; and a
millionaire's passion is something that can make a stir. He knew that
in Emilia he had discovered a pearl of song rarely to be found, and
his object was to polish and perfect her at all cost: perhaps, as a
secondary and far removed consideration, to point to her as a thing
belonging to him, for which Emperors might envy him. The thought of
losing her drove him into fits of rage. He took the ladies one by one,
and treated them each to a horrible scene of gesticulation and outraged
English. H accused their brother of conduct which they were obliged to
throw (by a process of their own) into the region of Fine Shades, before
they dared venture to comprehend him. Gross facts in relationship with
the voice, this grievous "machine, not man,"--as they said--stated to
them, harshly, impetuously. The ladies felt that he had bored their
ears with hot iron pins. Adela tried laughter as a defence from his
suggestion against Wilfrid, but had shortly afterwards to fly from the
fearful anatomist. She served her brother thoroughly in the Council of
Three; so that Mr. Pericles was led by them to trust that there had;
been mere fooling in his absence, and that the emotions he looked to as
the triumphant reserve in Emilia's bosom, to be aroused at some crisis
when she was before the world, slumbered still. She, on her part,
contrasting her own burning sensations with this quaint, innocent
devotion to Art and passion for music, felt in a manner guilty; and
whenever he stormed with additional violence, she became suppliant,
and seemed to bend and have regrets. Mr. Pericles would then sa