you won't sing down there: isn't it, now? But,
really, they thought it fine the other night--quite clever, I heard
some of them say."

"Oh yes," with a weary smile that had a little contempt in it.

"Did that ugly little Italian know very much about singing? You seemed
pleased with his admiration."

"That ugly Italian, as you call him, has heard some of the best prima
donnas in Europe. He is poor, he is seedy--for his voice left him just
as he was on the eve of success--but he was the only person in the
room who could tell me that I sang as well as the greatest of them."
Her voice quivered as she spoke.

"You are mistaken indeed, Miss Blanche," I said. "Any fellow there
would have paid you the same compliment if you had given him a chance;
but you were so confoundedly wrapped up in that Italian chap that you
would not look at the rest of us."

"I don't care for the compliment," she said, cooling down directly: "I
care for the truth. They don't know if I sing well or not."

"Then you only sing to be admired, Miss Furnaval?"

"I don't sing at all," she said, coloring.

"But you _should_ sing."

"Why?" she asked.

"To please--to give pleasure to others."

"I don't care to please any one but myself."

"But that is not right, you know. Now, I try to please everybody."

"Do you always succeed, Mr. Highrank?"

"Yes, always; and though it's tiresome at times, I bear it. Last
autumn you never saw anything to compare to it--in the country, you
know. But it's my vocation, and I try to live up to it. People do
wrong who have talents and do not use them. That is why I blame you,
Miss Blanche."

"It is not worth the trouble. I have withdrawn my hand from market,
and intend to please myself the remainder of my life."

"From what market? What do you mean?"

"I mean the matrimonial market, of course."

"Why won't you marry? if I may ask."

"It is too much trouble. I won't be a slave to the caprices of the
world so that I may be called amiable. Now, if I don't wish to appear
in the parlor, I stay in my room; if I don't wish to receive callers,
I refuse; if I don't wish to attend a party, I stay at home. I need
not visit to keep myself 'before, the public.' I can be as eccentric
as I like. When I disagree with a gentleman, I can contradict him; if
I do not feel like smiling, I frown; and when I want to walk alone, I
go. I can please myself from morning till night, and I enjoy it."

"You like clever fellows, don'