terrible at times, and they are lonely, and they make you think. But
they are beautiful too, with a sort of splendid beauty and grandeur that
goes very near making you miserable.... I cannot describe it. You will
see for yourself."

Here a bell rang, and at the same moment Mr. White made his appearance.

"How do you do, Sir Keith? Luncheon is ready, my dear--luncheon is
ready--luncheon is ready."

He kept muttering to himself as he led the way. They entered a small
dining-room, and here, if Macleod had ever heard of actresses having
little time to give to domestic affairs, he must have been struck by the
exceeding neatness and brightness of everything on the table and around
it. The snow-white cover; the brilliant glass and spoons; the carefully
arranged, if tiny, bouquets; and the precision with which the smart
little maiden-servant, the only attendant, waited--all these things
showed a household well managed. Nay, this iced claret-cup--was it not
of her own composition?--and a pleasanter beverage he had never drank.

But she seemed to pay little attention to these matters, for she kept
glancing at her father, who, as he addressed Macleod from time to time,
was obviously nervous and harassed about something. At last she said,--

"Papa, what is the matter with you? Has anything gone wrong this
morning?"

"Oh, my dear child," said he, "don't speak of it. It is my memory--I
fear my memory is going. But we will not trouble our guest about it. I
think you were saying, Sir Keith, that you had seen the latest additions
to the National Gallery--"

"But what is it, papa?" his daughter insisted.

"My dear, my dear, I know I have the lines somewhere; and Lord ---- says
that the very first jug fired at the new pottery he is helping shall
have these lines on it, and be kept for himself. I know I have both the
Spanish original and the English translation somewhere; and all the
morning I have been hunting and hunting--for only one line. I think I
know the other three,--

'Old wine to drink.
Old wrongs let sink,
* * * *
Old friends in need.'

It is the third line that has escaped me--dear, dear me! I fear my brain
is going."

"But I will hunt for it, papa," said she; "I will get the lines for you.
Don't you trouble."

"No, no, no, child," said he, with somewhat of a pompous air. "You have
this new character to study. You must not allow any trouble to disturb
the serenity of your mind while