nd cold, and her hands clinched
themselves at her sides. She looked austere and terrible and was during
this moment an incarnation the vividness of which drew from Sherringham
a stifled cry. "_Elle est bien belle--ah ca_," murmured the old
actress; and in the pause which still preceded the issue of sound from
the girl's lips Peter turned to his kinsman and said in a low tone: "You
must paint her just like that."

"Like that?"

"As the Tragic Muse."

She began to speak; a long, strong, colourless voice quavered in her
young throat. She delivered the lines of Clorinde in the admired
interview with Celie, the gem of the third act, with a rude monotony,
and then, gaining confidence, with an effort at modulation which was not
altogether successful and which evidently she felt not to be so. Madame
Carre sent back the ball without raising her hand, repeating the
speeches of Celie, which her memory possessed from their having so often
been addressed to her, and uttering the verses with soft, communicative
art. So they went on through the scene, which, when it was over, had not
precisely been a triumph for Miriam Rooth. Sherringham forbore to look
at Gabriel Nash, and Madame Carre said: "I think you've a voice, _ma
fille_, somewhere or other. We must try and put our hand on it." Then
she asked her what instruction she had had, and the girl, lifting her
eyebrows, looked at her mother while her mother prompted her.

"Mrs. Delamere in London; she was once an ornament of the English stage.
She gives lessons just to a very few; it's a great favour. Such a very
nice person! But above all, Signor Ruggieri--I think he taught us most."
Mrs. Rooth explained that this gentleman was an Italian tragedian, in
Rome, who instructed Miriam in the proper manner of pronouncing his
language and also in the art of declaiming and gesticulating.

"Gesticulating I'll warrant!" declared their hostess. "They mimic as for
the deaf, they emphasise as for the blind. Mrs. Delamere is doubtless an
epitome of all the virtues, but I never heard of her. You travel too
much," Madame Carre went on; "that's very amusing, but the way to study
is to stay at home, to shut yourself up and hammer at your scales." Mrs.
Rooth complained that they had no home to stay at; in reply to which the
old actress exclaimed: "Oh you English, you're _d'une legerete a faire
fremir._ If you haven't a home you must make, or at least for decency
pretend to, one. In our profession it