st gladly
turned aside, for she had evidently something to say to him privately.

"Mr. Moore, I want to introduce you to Mr. Hooper--to Mr. Quincey
Hooper--he doesn't seem to know anybody, and I want you to look after
him a little--"

"No, no, Lady Adela, you must really excuse me," said he, in an
undertone, but he was laughing all the same. "I can't, really. I beg
your pardon, but indeed you must excuse me. I've just had one dose of
literature--a furious lecture about--about I don't know what--oh, yes,
immigration into America. And do you know this--that in a generation or
two the great national poet of America will be Goethe?"

"What?" said she.

He repeated the statement; and added that there could be no doubt about
it, for he had it on Mr. Octavius Quirk's authority.

"Well, it's a good thing to be told," she said, sweetly, "for then you
know." And therewithal, as there was a sudden sound of music issuing
from the next gallery, she bade Lionel take her to see who had begun--it
was Lady Sybil, indeed, who was playing a solo on the violin to an
accompaniment of stringed instruments, while all the crowd stood still
and listened.

The evening passed pleasantly enough. There were one or two courageous
amateurs who now and again ventured on a song; but for the most part the
music was instrumental. A young lady, standing with her hands behind her
back, gave a recitation, and attempted to draw pathetic tears by
picturing the woes of a simple-minded chimney-sweep who accidentally
killed his tame sparrow, and who never quite held up his head
thereafter; he seemed to pine away somehow, until one morning they found
him dead, his face downward on the tiny grave in which he had buried his
little playfellow. Another young lady performed a series of brilliant
roulades on a silver bugle, which seemed to afford satisfaction. A
well-known entertainer sat down to the piano and proceeded to give a
description of a fashionable wedding; and all the people laughed merrily
at the clever and sparkling way in which he made a fool of--not
themselves, of course, but their friends and acquaintances. And then
Lionel Moore went to his hostess.

"Don't you want me to do anything?" he said.

"You're too kind," Lady Adela made answer, with grateful eyes. "It's
hardly fair. Still, if I had the courage--"

"Yes, you have the courage," he said, smiling.

"If I had the courage to ask you to sing Sybil's song for her?"

"Of course I will sin