ing like enthusiasm when the infant prodigy, a quaint,
painfully shy little creature, who bobbed a side curtsey at the audience,
and looked much too small to tackle the grand piano, appeared and
proceeded to execute wonderful things with her small fingers.

"That's a bit of all right!" murmured Allerdyke, when the child had
finished her first contribution. "That's a clever little party! But she's
too big in the eye, and too small in the bone--wants plenty of new milk,
and new-laid eggs, and fresh air, and not so much piano-thumping, does
that. Clever--clever--but unnatural, Fullaway!--they mustn't let her do
too much at that. Well, now I suppose we shall see the shoe-buckle lady."

The packed audience evidently supposed the same thing. Over it--the
infant prodigy having received her meed of applause and bobbed herself
awkwardly out of sight--had come that atmosphere of expectancy which
invariably heralds the appearance of the great figure on any similar
occasion. It needed no special intuition on Allerdyke's part to know that
all these people were itching to show their fondness for Zelie de
Longarde by clapping their hands, waving their program, and otherwise
manifesting their delight at once more seeing a prime favourite. All eyes
were fixed on the wing of the platform, all hands were ready to give
welcome. But a minute passed--two minutes--three minutes--and Zelie de
Longarde did not appear. Another minute--and then, endeavouring to smile
bravely and reassuringly, and not succeeding particularly well in the
attempt, a tall, elaborately attired, carefully polished-up man,
unmistakably German, blonde, heavy, suave, suddenly walked on to the
platform and did obeisance to the audience.

"Weiss!" whispered Fullaway. "Something's wrong! Look at his face--he's
in big trouble."

The concert-director straightened himself from that semi-military bow,
and looked at the faces in front of him with a mute appeal.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I have to entreat the high favour of
your kind indulgence. Mademoiselle de Longarde is not yet arrived from
her hotel. I hope--I think--she is now on her way. In the meantime I
propose, with your gracious consent, to continue, our program with the
next item, at the conclusion of which, I hope, Mademoiselle will appear."

The audience was sympathetic--the audience was ready to be placated. It
gave cordial hearing and warm favour to the singer of Scottish
melodies--it even played into