which belongs to the absence of real enjoyment, her closing
_bravura_ was none the worse for being animated by a little triumphant
contempt.

'Why, you are in better voice than ever, Caterina,' said Captain Wybrow,
when she had ended. 'This is rather different from Miss Hibbert's small
piping that we used to be glad of at Farleigh, is it not, Beatrice?'

'Indeed it is. You are a most enviable creature,
Miss Sarti--Caterina--may I not call you Caterina? for I have heard
Anthony speak of you so often, I seem to know you quite well. You will
let me call you Caterina?'

'O yes, every one calls me Caterina, only when they call me Tina.'

'Come, come, more singing, more singing, little monkey,' Sir Christopher
called out from the other side of the room. 'We have not had half enough
yet.'

Caterina was ready enough to obey, for while she was singing she was
queen of the room, and Miss Assher was reduced to grimacing admiration.
Alas! you see what jealousy was doing in this poor young soul. Caterina,
who had passed her life as a little unobtrusive singing-bird, nestling so
fondly under the wings that were outstretched for her, her heart beating
only to the peaceful rhythm of love, or fluttering with some easily
stifled fear, had begun to know the fierce palpitations of triumph and
hatred.

When the singing was over, Sir Christopher and Lady Cheverel sat down to
whist with Lady Assher and Mr. Gilfil, and Caterina placed herself at the
Baronet's elbow, as if to watch the game, that she might not appear to
thrust herself on the pair of lovers. At first she was glowing with her
little triumph, and felt the strength of pride; but her eye _would_ steal
to the opposite side of the fireplace, where Captain Wybrow had seated
himself close to Miss Assher, and was leaning with his arm over the back
of the chair, in the most lover-like position. Caterina began to feel a
choking sensation. She could see, almost without looking, that he was
taking up her arm to examine her bracelet; their heads were bending close
together, her curls touching his cheek--now he was putting his lips to
her hand. Caterina felt her cheeks burn--she could sit no longer. She got
up, pretended to be gliding about in search of something, and at length
slipped out of the room.

Outside, she took a candle, and, hurrying along the passages and up the
stairs to her own room, locked the door.

'O, I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it!' the poor thing burst out alou