y.

"But you have never gone in for politics, Mr. Frettlby?"

"Who?--I--no," said the host, rousing himself out of the brown study
into which he had fallen. "I'm afraid I'm not sufficiently patriotic,
and my business did not permit me."

"And now?"

"Now," echoed Mr. Frettlby, glancing at his daughter, "I intend to
travel."

"The jolliest thing out," said Peterson, eagerly. "One never gets tired
of seeing the queer things that are in the world."

"I've seen queer enough things in Melbourne in the early days," said
the old colonist, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh!" cried Julia, putting her hands up to her ears, "don't tell me
them, for I'm sure they're naughty."

"We weren't saints then," said old Valpy, with a senile chuckle.

"Ah, then, we haven't changed much in that respect," retorted Frettlby,
drily.

"You talk of your theatres now," went on Valpy, with the garrulousness
of old age; "why, you haven't got a dancer like Rosanna."

Brian started on hearing this name again, and he felt Madge's cold hand
touch his.

"And who was Rosanna?" asked Felix, curiously, looking up.

"A dancer and burlesque actress," replied Valpy, vivaciously, nodding
his old head. "Such a beauty; we were all mad about her--such hair and
eyes. You remember her, Frettlby?"

"Yes," answered the host, in a curiously dry voice.

But before Mr. Valpy had the opportunity to wax more eloquent, Madge
rose from the table, and the other ladies followed. The ever polite
Felix held the door open for them, and received a bright smile from his
wife for, what she considered, his brilliant talk at the dinner table.

Brian sat still, and wondered why Frettlby changed colour on hearing
the name--he supposed that the millionaire had been mixed up with the
actress, and did not care about being reminded of his early
indiscretions--and, after all, who does?

"She was as light as a fairy," continued Valpy, with wicked chuckle.

"What became of her?" asked Brian, abruptly.

Mark Frettlby looked up suddenly, as Fitzgerald asked this question.

"She went to England in 1858," said the aged one. "I'm not quite sure
if it was July or August, but it was in 1858."

"You will excuse me, Valpy, but I hardly think that these reminiscences
of a ballet-dancer are amusing," said Frettlby, curtly, pouring himself
out a glass of wine. "Let us change the subject."

Notwithstanding the plainly-expressed wish of his host Brian felt
strongly inclined