ith an amused, interested smile, and read the words
more than once--then, with equal interest, perused a programme of the
concert, which had also been enclosed.

"So it is to-day, is it?" he said to himself, as he finished his cup of
coffee. "She is late in sending me a ticket; I shall scarcely be able to
nail any of the critics for her now. I would have got Gurney to write
her a notice if I had known earlier. Probably that is the very reason
why she did not let me know--independent young woman that she is! I'll
go and see what I can do for her even at the eleventh hour. She shall
have a good big bouquet for her _debut_, at any rate!"

He sallied forth, making his way to his club, where he found occasion to
remark to more than one of his friends that Madame della Scala's concert
would be worth going to, and that a young lady who had formerly been
known in the theatrical world--Miss Cynthia West--would make her _debut_
as a public singer that afternoon. Meeting Marcus Gurney, the well-known
musical critic of an influential paper, soon afterwards, he pressed upon
him his spare ticket for the concert, and gave him to understand that it
would be a really good-natured thing if he could turn in at Ebury's
Rooms between three and four, and write something for the _Scourge_ that
would not injure that very promising _debutante_, Miss West. Marcus
Gurney laughed and consented, and Hubert went off well pleased; he had
at least stopped the mouth of the bitterest critic in London, he
reflected--for, though Gurney was personally one of the most amiable of
men, he could be very virulent in print. Then he went off to Covent
Garden, and selected two of the loveliest bouquets he could find--one,
of course, for Cynthia, and one for her teacher, Madame della Scala. For
Hubert was wise in his generation.

He had seen very little of Cynthia West during the last few months, and
had not heard her sing at all. Shortly after his second interview with
her, he had sent her to Italy for the winter, so that she might have a
course of lessons from the most celebrated teacher in Milan. He was
gratified to hear that there had been at least nothing to unlearn. Old
Lalli had done his work very thoroughly; he had trained her voice as
only a skilled musician could have done; and, on hearing who had been
her teacher, the great Italian _maestro_ had thrown up his hands and
asked her why she came to him.

"You will have no need of me," he had said to her.