a madhouse. 'He has told me again and again that you are still
the greatest lyric soprano living----'

'Angelo,' said Madame Bonanni, with perfect calm, 'change my plate.'

Margaret glanced at Lushington, who seemed to think it all quite
natural. He was eating little bits of thin toast thoughtfully, and from
time to time he looked at his mother with a gentle expression. But he
did not meet Margaret's glance.

'You never sang better in your life than you did last night, mother,'
he observed.

The prima donna's face glowed with pleasure, and as she turned her big
eyes to his Margaret saw in them a look of such loving tenderness as
she had rarely seen in her life.

'I saw you, my dear,' said Madame Bonanni to her son. 'You were in the
second row of the stalls. I sang for you last night, for I thought you
looked sad and lonely.'

Lushington laid his hand on hers for a moment.

'Thank you,' he said simply.

There was a short silence, which was unusual when the prima donna was
present. Margaret had recovered from her first surprise, and had
understood that Madame Bonanni adored her son and that he felt real
affection for her, though he suffered a good deal from the manner in
which hers showed itself. If Lushington had fancied that he might fall
in Margaret's estimation through her discovery of his birth, he was
much mistaken. His patience and perfect simplicity did more to make her
love him than anything he had done before. She had learned his secret,
or a great part of it, and she understood him now, and the reason why
he had changed his name, and she felt that he had behaved very well to
her in going away, though she wished that he had boldly taken her into
his confidence before leaving Mrs. Rushmore's. But she did not know
all, though she was neither too young nor too innocent to guess a part
of the truth. Few young women of twenty-two years are. Madame Bonanni's
career as an artist had been a long series of triumphs, but her past as
a woman had been variegated, of the sort for which the French have
invented a number of picturesquely descriptive expressions, such as
'leading the life of Punch,' 'throwing one's cap over the windmills,'
and other much less elegant phrases. Margaret saw that Lushington was
not ashamed of his mother, as his mother; but she knew instinctively
that his mother's past was a shame which he felt always and to the
quick.

Madame Bonanni ate a good deal before she spoke again, feeling,
per