sing?" she asked. "They all seem as if they were
going to sleep."

"Let them!" retorted Lady Wolfer, almost loudly enough for those near to
hear. "I don't care. Ask some one to sing, if you like."

Nell went up to a young girl who stood, half yawning, before a picture
of Burne-Jones'.

"Will you play or sing?" she asked.

The girl looked at her with languid good humor.

"I'd sing; but I can't. I have no parlor tricks," she said. "Besides,
what's the use? Nobody wants it," and she smiled with appalling candor.

Nell turned from her in despair, and met Lady Angleford's eyes bent upon
her with smiling and friendly interest. Nell went up to her appealingly.

"I want some one to sing or play--or do something, Lady Angleford," she
said.

Lady Angleford laughed, the comprehensive, American laugh which conveys
so much.

"And they won't? I know. It isn't worth while till the gentlemen come
in," she said. "I know that--now. It used to puzzle me at first; but I
know now. You English are so--funny! In America a girl is quite content
to sing to her lady friends; but here--well, only men count as audience.
They will all wake up when the men appear. I have learned that. Or
perhaps you will play or sing?"

Lady Wolfer was near enough to hear.

"Yes, Nell, sing," she said, with a forced smile.

Nell looked round shyly, then went to the piano.

"That's the sweetest girl I've seen in England," said Lady Angleford to
her neighbor, who happened to be the dowager duchess. Her grace put up
her eyeglasses, with their long holder, and surveyed the slim, girlish
figure on its way to the grand piano.

"Yes? She's awfully pretty. And very young, too. A connection of the
Wolfers', isn't she? Rather sad face."

"A face with a history," said Lady Angleford, more to herself than the
duchess. "Do you know anything about her, duchess?"

Her grace shrugged her fat shoulders sleepily.

"Nothing at all. She's here as a kind of lady companion, or something of
the sort. Yes, she's pretty, decidedly. Are you going on to the
Meridues' reception?"

Nell sat down and played her prelude rather nervously; then she sang one
of the songs which she had sung in The Cottage at Shorne Mills--one of
the songs to which Drake had never seemed tired of listening. There was
a lull in the lifeless, perfunctory conversation, and one or two of the
sleepy women murmured: "Thank you! Thank you very much!"

"Bravo! Sing us something else, Nell!" said Lady