r, you never saw such a beautiful baby as
he was! He was all pink and white, like a little sugar angel, and he
had dimples everywhere--everywhere, my dear!' she repeated with
suggestive emphasis.

'I don't doubt it,' said Margaret, biting her lips and looking at her
plate.

By this time the plovers' eggs had come for Lushington and he was glad
of anything to do with his hands.

'My mother can never believe that I am grown up,' he said, with much
more self-possession than Margaret had expected; and suddenly he raised
his eyes and looked steadily and quietly at her across the table.

It must have cost him something of an effort, for his colour came and
went quickly. Margaret knew what he was suffering and her respect for
him increased a hundredfold in those few minutes, because he did not
betray the least irritation in his tone or manner. His mother evidently
worshipped him, but her way of showing it was such as must be horribly
uncomfortable to a man of his retiring character and sensitive taste.
He might easily have been forgiven if he had shown that it hurt him, as
well it might. Whatever reason he and Madame Bonanni might have had for
changing his name, he was brave enough not to be falsely ashamed of
her, in the presence of the woman he loved.

'You see,' Margaret said, looking at him, but speaking to the prima
donna, 'Mr. Lushington has been stopping with us at Versailles for a
good while, but I did not tell him that I had been to see you, and he
never even said that he know you, though he often spoke of your
singing.'

'Did he?' asked Madame Bonanni with intense anxiety. 'What did he say?
Did he say that I was growing old and ought to give up the stage?'

'Mother!' exclaimed Lushington reproachfully.

'He never said anything of the kind!' cried Margaret, taking his part
with energy.

'Because he always says just what he thinks,' explained Madame Bonanni,
who seemed relieved. 'And the worst part of it is that he knows,' she
added, thoughtfully. 'I do not pretend to understand what he writes,
but I would take his opinion about music rather than any one's. You
wretched little boy!' she cried, turning on Lushington suddenly. 'How
you frightened me!'

'I frightened you? How?'

'I was sure that you had told everybody that I was growing old! How
could you? My darling child, how could you be so unkind? Oh, you have
no heart!'

'But he never said so!' cried Margaret vehemently and feeling as if she
were in