u see?" Madame poked two fingers through the hole in the
toe of a red-and-black sock, and smiled a little maliciously at
Alvina.

"I don't mind which sock I darn," she said.

"No? You don't? Well then, I give you another. But if you like I
will speak to him--"

"What to say?" asked Alvina.

"To say that you have so much money, and hope to have more. And that
you like him--Yes? Am I right? You like him very much?--hein? Is it
so?"

"And then what?" said Alvina.

"That he should tell me if he should like to marry you also--quite
simply. What? Yes?"

"No," said Alvina. "Don't say anything--not yet."

"He? Not yet? Not yet. All right, not yet then. You will see--"

Alvina sat darning the sock and smiling at her own shamelessness.
The point that amused her most of all was the fact that she was not
by any means sure she wanted to marry him. There was Madame spinning
her web like a plump prolific black spider. There was Ciccio, the
unrestful fly. And there was herself, who didn't know in the least
what she was doing. There sat two of them, Madame and herself,
darning socks in a stuffy little bedroom with a gas fire, as if they
had been born to it. And after all, Woodhouse wasn't fifty miles
away.

Madame went downstairs to get tea ready. Wherever she was, she
superintended the cooking and the preparation of meals for her young
men, scrupulous and quick. She called Alvina downstairs. Ciccio came
in with the bag.

"See, my dear, that your money is safe," said Madame.

Alvina unfastened her bag and counted the crisp white notes.

"And now," said Madame, "I shall lock it in my little bank, yes,
where it will be safe. And I shall give you a receipt, which the
young men will witness."

The party sat down to tea, in the stuffy sitting-room.

"Now, boys," said Madame, "what do you say? Shall Miss Houghton join
the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras? Shall she be our pianist?"

The eyes of the four young men rested on Alvina. Max, as being the
responsible party, looked business-like. Louis was tender, Geoffrey
round-eyed and inquisitive, Ciccio furtive.

"With great pleasure," said Max. "But can the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras
afford to pay a pianist for themselves?"

"No," said Madame. "No. I think not. Miss Houghton will come for one
month, to prove, and in that time she shall pay for herself. Yes? So
she fancies it."

"Can we pay her expenses?" said Max.

"No," said Alvina. "Let me pay everything for myself, for a month. I
shoul