hen the point of that long, prickly leaf coming out behind. I tell you,
Mr. Closs, it's perfect."

She was looking down at her work, and he could not detect all the
mischief that sparkled under her drooping lashes.

"Clara, what does this mean?"

The girl looked up at him so innocently.

"Mean? Why, it means a cactus-flower."

Hepworth Closs had never been a patient man, and the feelings which that
wild girl had awakened in his heart were all too earnest for such
trifling. He rose to leave her. Then she gave him a side glance, half
comic, half repentant.

"Are you going?"

"Yes."

"Dear me, I am so sorry, because I wanted to tell you something."

The girl spoke and acted like a penitent child. Hepworth sat down again,
but his face was clouded.

"You can do anything with mamma Rachael, and I want you to ask a great
favor for me."

"Why not ask yourself? My sister denies you nothing."

"But this is something peculiar, and she may think papa would not like
it. There is to be a new opera brought out in London, and such a lovely
girl is to make her first appearance in it, handsome as the morning, and
with a voice like ten thousand nightingales. Now, I do so want to hear
her on the first night."

"Well, that is easy."

"Yes, yes--if mamma Rachael would only think so. But papa is awful
particular, and she may be afraid to take me. But with you for an
escort, there can't really be any harm; so I want your help."

"But how did you know about this? I have not seen it in the journals."

"No, it hasn't got abroad yet. I will tell you all about it. When I was
a very, very little girl, my poor mother died in America, where she was
travelling among the Indians, I believe, with my father. Well, you see
how hard it was on papa to be left with a poor little girl among the
savages. I do not know just how it was; but when he married mamma
Rachael, ever so long after, of course she got an American nurse in New
York, who has been with me ever since. I call her my maid now, and won't
have any other, French or not--for she's good as gold, and loves me
dearly. You will believe that when I tell you our head gamekeeper wanted
to marry her--she loved him, too, but wouldn't leave me. Margaret left a
sister behind in New York that she was very fond of, and has been pining
to see for years. Just before you came she received a letter from
London, saying that her sister was there, travelling with some lady
connected with the stage,