er dreamt of. She had first determined to be a
singer in order to support herself, because she had been cheated of
a fortune by old Alvah Moon; but before she had actually made her
_debut_ a handsome sum had been recovered for her, and though she was
not exactly what is now called rich, she was at least extremely well
off, apart from her professional earnings, which were very large
indeed. In the certainty that if her voice failed she would always
have a more than sufficient income for the rest of her life, and
considering that she was not under the obligation of supporting a
number of poor relations, it was not surprising that she should spend
a great deal of money on herself.

It is not every one who can be lavish without going a little beyond
the finely-drawn boundary which divides luxury from extravagance; for
useless profusion is by nature as contrary to what is aesthetic as fat
in the wrong place, and is quite as sure to be seen. To spend well
what rich people are justified in expending over and above an ample
provision for the necessities and reasonable comforts of a large
existence is an art in itself, and the modest muse of good taste loves
not the rich man for his riches, nor the successful primadonna for the
thousands she has a right to throw away if she likes.

Mr. Van Torp vaguely understood this, without at all guessing how the
great artist spent her money. He had understood at least enough to
hinder him from trying to dazzle her in the beginning of the New York
season, when he had brought siege against her.

A week after her arrival in London, Margaret was alone at her piano
and Lushington was announced. Unlike the majority of musicians in real
fiction she had not been allowing her fingers to 'wander over the
keys,' a relaxation that not seldom leads to outer darkness, where the
consecutive fifth plays hide-and-seek with the falling sub-tonic to
superinduce gnashing of teeth in them that hear. Margaret was learning
her part in the _Elisir d'Amore_, and instead of using her voice she
was whistling from the score and playing the accompaniment. The old
opera was to be revived during the coming season with her and the
great Pompeo Stromboli, and she was obliged to work hard to have it
ready.

The music-room had a polished wooden floor, and the furniture
consisted chiefly of a grand piano and a dozen chairs. The walls were
tinted a pale green; there were no curtains at the windows, because
they would have