age, and ground out tremendous curses,
Mae half shivered and glanced tremblingly toward Bero, and Bero
gazed back protectingly and grandly. Once, when Desdemona cried
out thrillingly, "Othello, il mio marito," Mae looked at Norman
involuntarily and caught a half flash of his eye, but he turned back
quickly to his companion and Mae's glance wandered on to Bero and rested
there as the wild voice cried out again, "il mio marito, il mio marito."

So the evening slid on. Mae smiled and smiled and opened and half closed
her eyes, and Norman invited Miss Rae to go to church with him, and to
drive with him, and to walk with him, and to go to the galleries with
him, "until, Susie Hopkins, if you will believe it, I fairly thought he
would drop on his knees and ask me to go through life with him, right
then and there." So Miss Rae confided to Susie Hopkins after the
victorious night, in the silence of a fourth-story Costanzi bedroom.

Susie Hopkins was putting her hair up on crimping-pins, but she paused
long enough to say: "Well, Jack Durkee had better hurry himself and his
ring along, then."

"O, he's coming as quickly as ever he can," laughed Miss Rae, whereat
she proceeded to place a large letter and a picture under the left-hand
pillow, crimped her hair, cold-creamed her lips, and laid her down to
pleasant dreams of--Jack.

CHAPTER VI.

Mae was very much ashamed of herself the next morning. She had been
restored in a measure to popular favor, through Eric, the day before.
Edith and Albert were home from Frascati, when Eric made his raid
bravely on their forces combined with those of Mrs. Jerrold. He advanced
boldly. "It's all nonsense, child, as she is," he said. "It was natural
enough, to talk with the man," for Mae had made a clean breast of her
misdoings to him, to the extent of saying that they had chatted after
the beggar left. "Do forgive her, poor little proud tot, away across the
sea from her mother. Albert, you're as hard as a rock, and that Edith
has no spirit in her," he added, under his breath. This remark made
Albert white with rage. Nevertheless, he put in a plea for his wayward,
reckless little sister, with effect. After a few more remarks from Mrs.
Jerrold, Mae came out of the ordeal; was treated naturally, and, as we
have seen, accompanied Mrs. Jerrold to the play the night before.

Now, it was the next day. Mrs. Jerrold breakfasted in her own room
again, and spent the hours in writing home letter