ng them with evident interest.

'Is Miss Donne here?' Logotheti inquired of Schreiermeyer.

The impresario nodded indifferently, without looking round.

'I wish you had chosen _Rigoletto_ for her _debut_,' said the Greek.
'The part of Gilda is much better suited to her voice, take my word for
it.'

'What do you know about it?' asked Schreiermeyer, smiling faintly, just
enough to save the rude question from being almost insulting.

'When Gounod began _Faust_ he was in love with a lady with a deep
voice,' answered Logotheti, 'but when he was near the end he was in
love with one who had a high voice. The consequence is that
Marguerite's part ranges over nearly three octaves, and is frightfully
trying, particularly for a beginner.'

'Bosh!' ejaculated the impresario, though he knew it was quite true.

He looked at the stage again, as if Logotheti did not exist.

'Oh, very well,' said the latter carelessly. 'It probably won't matter
much, as they say that Miss Donne is going to throw up her engagement,
and give up going on the stage.'

He had produced an effect at last, for Schreiermeyer's jaw dropped as
he turned quickly.

'Eh? What? Who says she is not going to sing? What?'

'I dare say it is nothing but gossip,' Logotheti answered coolly. 'You
seem excited.'

'Excited? Eh? Some one has heard her sing and has offered her more! You
shall tell me who it is!' He gripped Logotheti's arm with fingers that
felt like talons. 'Tell me quickly!' he cried. 'I will offer her more,
more than anybody can! Tell me quickly.'

'Take care, you are spoiling my cuff,' said Logotheti. 'I know nothing
about it, beyond that piece of gossip. Of course you are aware that she
is a lady. Somebody may have left her a fortune, you know. Her only
reason for singing was that she was poor.'

'Nonsense!' cried Schreiermeyer, with a sort of suppressed yell. 'It is
all bosh! Somebody has offered her more money, and you know who it is!
You shall tell me!' He was in a violent passion by this time, or seemed
to be. 'You come here, suggesting and interfering with my prima donnas!
You are in league, damn you! Damn you, you are a conspiracy!'

His face was as white as paper, his queer eyes blazed through his
glasses, and his features were disfigured with rage. He showed his
teeth and hissed like a wildcat; his nervous fingers fastened
themselves upon Logotheti's arm.

But Logotheti gazed at him with a look of amusement in his quiet eyes,
and