was what Schreiermeyer would do, and when she
next met him he would tell her that he would have 'no nonsense, no
stupid stuff,' and that she had signed an engagement and must sing or
pay.

She had never shammed an illness, either, and she did not mean to
begin now. It was only that for two blessed hours and more, with her
dead father's best friend and Maud, she had felt like her old self
again, and had dreamt that she was with her own people. She had even
disliked the prospect of seeing Logotheti after that, and she felt a
much stronger repugnance for her theatrical comrades. She went to her
own room before meeting them, and she sighed as she stood before the
tall looking-glass for a moment after taking off her coat and hat. In
pulling out the hat-pins her hair had almost come down, and Alphonsine
proposed to do it over again, but Margaret was impatient.

'Give me something--a veil, or anything,' she said impatiently. 'They
are waiting for me.'

The maid instantly produced from a near drawer a peach-coloured veil
embroidered with green and gold. It was a rather vivid modern Turkish
one given her by Logotheti, and she wrapped it quickly over her
disordered hair, like a sort of turban, tucking one end in, and
left the room almost without glancing at the glass again. She was
discontented with herself now for having dreamt of ever again being
anything but what she was--a professional singer.

The little party greeted her noisily as she entered the music-room.
Her comrades had not seen her since she had left them in New York, and
the consequence was that Signorina Baci-Roventi kissed her on both
cheeks with dramatic force, and she kissed Fraeulein Ottilie on both
cheeks, and Pompeo Stromboli offered himself for a like favour and had
to be fought off, while Schreiermeyer looked on gravely, very much as
a keeper at the Zoo watches the gambols of the animals in his charge;
but Logotheti shook hands very quietly, well perceiving that his
chance of pleasing her just then lay in being profoundly respectful
while the professionals were overpoweringly familiar. His
almond-shaped eyes asked her how in the world she could stand it all,
and she felt uncomfortable at the thought that she was used to it.

Besides, these good people really liked her. The only members of the
profession who hated her were the other lyric sopranos. Schreiermeyer,
rapacious and glittering, had a photograph of her hideously enamelled
in colours inside th