me Bonanni said, breaking off the discussion of trains and turning
to Margaret. 'That is, if Schreiermeyer will let you,' she added. 'You
will have to do exactly what he tells you, now, and he is always right.
He will be a father to you, now that he is going to make money out of
you.'

'Will he call me his "darling"?' inquired Margaret, with a shade of
anxiety.

'Of course he will! And when you sing well he will kiss you on both
cheeks.'

'Indeed he won't!' cried Margaret, turning red.

Madame Bonanni laughed heartily, but Lushington looked annoyed.

'My dear, why not?' asked the prima donna. 'Everybody kisses us
artists, when we have a triumph, and we kiss everybody! The author, the
manager, the dressmaker and the stage carpenter, besides all our old
friends! What difference can it make? It means nothing.'

'But it's such an unpleasant idea!' Margaret objected.

'Of course,' returned Madame Bonanni, licking her fingers between the
words, 'there are artists who ride the high horse and insist on being
treated like duchesses. The other artists hate them, and real society
laughs at them. It is far better to be simple, and kiss everybody. It
costs so little and it gives them so much pleasure, as Rachel said of
her lovers!'

'It was Sophie Arnould,' said Lushington, correcting her mistake.

'Was it? I don't care. I say it, and that is enough. Besides I hate
children who are always setting their parents right! It's my own fault,
because I was so anxious to have you well educated. If I had brought
you up as I was brought up, you would never have left me! As it
is'--she turned to Margaret with suddenly flashing eyes--'do you know,
my dear? that atrocious little wretch will never take a penny from me,
from me, his own mother! Ah, it is villainous! He is perfectly
heartless! He denies me the only pleasure I wish for. Even when he was
at school, at Eton, my dear, at the great English school, you know, he
worked like a poor boy and won scholarships--money! Is it not
disgusting? And at Oxford he lived on that money and won more! And then
he worked, and worked at those terrible books, and wrote for the
abominable press, and never would let me give him anything. Ah, you
ungrateful little boy!

She seemed perfectly furious with him and shook her fist in his face;
but the next moment she laughed and patted his cheek with her fat hand.

'And to say that I am proud of him!' she said, beaming with motherly
smiles. 'Proud of h