my opinion of myself, I must take
refuge in the old proverb, "Eavesdroppers never hear any good of
themselves."

But there was Angelina; she was the one who "painted in oils," and she
attracted me more than any of the others. There was about her an
atmosphere of pleasure, within her an expression of delight, that
accounted for the really sunny gleam upon her face. Something had made
all the day happy for her. In the morning she had passed nearly all
the time in Mrs. Jay's front drawing-room. The fine masterpieces of
art, brought from Europe, make this apartment a true picture-gallery.
But Angelina's pleasure, artist though she was, was not taken from the
figures upon the walls. She walked up and down the room; she lingered
awhile in one of the deep fauteuils; she paused before the paintings
with Frank Leslie by her side. As she turned, at the theatre, now and
then to the vacant seat behind her, next Aurelia's, her anticipation
was not embittered by anxiety; she knew he would come in time. Oh,
Frank! you did not tell me _all_ that took place at Mrs. Jay's!

But, from all these observations, my thoughts were turned back to the
stage by the influence of the little Sophie Seymour. She--about whom
we knew nothing--she was the only one of the party entirely absorbed
in the opera. Her eyes fixed upon the stage; her heart wrapt up in
the intense story that was being enacted; her musical soul throbbing
with the glorious chords that swelled out; her whole being reflected
the opera.

So I turned me to the stage. My eyes fell first upon the substitute
that the illness of Mademoiselle ---- required for the night. Just now
she was standing on one side, and as she drew her white glove closer,
_her_ thoughts were going back to the scenes of the day.

Oh! what a little room she lived in! She was sitting in it when the
message came from the manager to summon her to sing to-night! Her
brother Franz was copying some music by her side; and now she is
smiling at the recollection of the conversation that had followed upon
her accepting the manager's unexpected proposal.

She had hastened to get out her last concert dress. It was new
once--but oh! would it answer now for the opera?

Those very white kid gloves! They had cost her her dinner.

"Must I have new ones, Franz?" she had asked. "If there were only time
to have an old pair cleaned--if, indeed, I have any left worth
cleaning!"

"Never mind," answered Franz, "it is worth twenty