r, and she conquered. To-night she spoke
of the prospects for the opera season, looking about her as if seeking
fresh causes for dissatisfaction.

"It's going to be dull," she said. "Covent Garden has things all its own
way, and therefore it goes to sleep. But in June we shall have Sennier.
That is something. Without him it would really not be worth while to
take a box. I told Mr. Brett so."

"What did he say?" asked Charmian.

"One Sennier makes a summer."

It was at this moment that Max Elliot came up, looking as he nearly
always did, cheerful and ready to be kind.

"I know," he said to Lady Mildred, "you're complaining about the opera.
I've just been with the Admiral."

"Hilary knows less about music than even the average Englishman."

"Well, he's been swearing, and even--saving your presence--cursing by
Strauss."

"He thinks that places him with the connoisseurs. It's his ambition to
prove to the world that one may be an Admiral and yet be quite
intelligent, even have what is called taste. He declines to be a
sea-dog."

"I think it's only living up to you. But have you really no hope of the
opera?"

"Very little--unless Sennier saves the situation."

"Has he anything new?" asked Charmian.

Max Elliot looked happily evasive.

"Madame Sennier says he hasn't."

"We ought to have a rival enterprise here as they have in New York at
present," said Lady Mildred.

"Sennier's success at the Metropolitan has nearly killed the New Era,"
said Elliot. "But Crayford has any amount of pluck, and a purse that
seems inexhaustible. I suppose you know he's to be here to-night."

"Mr. Jacob Crayford, the Impresario!" exclaimed Charmian. "He's in
England?"

"Arrived to-day by the _Lusitania_ in search of talent, of someone who
can 'produce the goods' as he calls it. Adelaide sent a note to meet him
at the Savoy, and he's coming. Shows his pluck, doesn't it? This is the
enemy's camp."

Max Elliot laughed gaily. He loved the strong battles of art, backed by
"commercial enterprise," and was friends with everyone though he could
be such a keen and concentrated partisan.

"Crayford would give a hundred thousand dollars without a murmur to get
Jacques away from the Metropolitan," he continued.

"Won't he go for that?" asked Lady Mildred, in her hollow voice. "Is
Madame Sennier holding out for two hundred thousand?"

Again Max Elliot looked happily evasive.

"Henriette! Has she anything to do with it?"

"Mr. Ell