ress-circle that
Mrs. Grey and her young charge heard the comedy-opera of "The Squire's
Daughter;" and Lionel knew they were there; and no doubt he sang his
best--for, if Nina had been showing off what she could do in the
morning, why should he not show off now, amid all these added glories of
picturesque costumes and surroundings? Nina was in an extraordinary
state of excitement, which she was unable altogether to conceal. Mrs.
Grey could hear the little, muttered exclamations in Italian; she could
see how intently that expressive face followed the progress of the
piece, reflecting its every movement, as it were; she caught a glimpse
of tears on the long, dark lashes when Lionel was singing, with
impassioned fervor, his love-lorn serenade; and then the next moment she
was astonished by the vehemence of the girl's delight when the vast
house thundered forth its applause--indeed, Nina herself was clapping
her hands furiously, to join in the universal roar of a recall--she was
laughing with joy--she appeared to have gone mad. Then, at the end of
the second act, she said, quickly,

"Mrs. Grey, can I send to him a note?--is there letter-paper?"

"Well, my dear, if we go into the refreshment-room and have a cup of
tea, perhaps one of the young ladies could give us a sheet of
writing-paper."

And thus it was that Lionel, when he was leaving the theatre that night,
found a neatly folded little note awaiting him. He was in a considerable
hurry; for he had to go home and dress and get off to a crush in
Grosvenor Square, where he hoped to find Lady Adela Cunyngham, her
sisters, and Miss Georgie Lestrange (there was some talk of an immediate
presentation of the little pastoral comedy), so that he had only time to
glance over Nina's nervously pencilled scrawl. Thus it ran:

"Leo, it is magnificent, it is splendid, you are a true artist;
to-morrow I write to Pandiani, he will be overjoyed as I am. But
Miss Burgoyne--_no, no, no_--she is not artist at all--she is
negligent of her part, of the others in the scene--she puts up her
fan and talks to you from behind it--why you allow that?--it is
insult to the public! She _believes_ not her part and makes all the
rest false. What a shame to you, Leo; but your splendid voice, your
fine timbre, carries everything! Bravo, my Leo! It is a great
trionf, brilliant, beautiful, and Nina is proud of her friend.
Good-night from