a stage name, he would have
chosen something more romantic."

"Who is he, and where did Mrs. Stanley accumulate him?"

Bobby rolled his eyes expressively towards the portly, satin-clad figure
of his hostess.

"Mrs. Stanley hunts every lion that comes to Manhattan Island. As a
rule, she catches only cubs; this is the exception which proves the
rule."

"I haven't heard the name before."

"No; Thayer is a brand-new lion, but fully grown. Of course, with that
name, his family tree sprouted in Massachusetts; but he has been in
Germany and Italy for years. He only landed, the third, and is to make
his formal debut at the Lloyd Avalons's on the twentieth. Don't you want
to meet him?"

"N--no. I am afraid it would be anticlimax."

"Not a bit of it. He doesn't indulge in speckled neckties and an
imperial. He is a man, as well as a singer."

"You know him, then?"

"Yes, as one knows any number of people. Lorimer has had him at the club
occasionally, and I have met him there."

"Mr. Lorimer?"

"Lorimer knew him well in Germany. Come and help burn incense before
him, and do try to say something rational. Those fellows must get deadly
sick of the inanities people talk when they are being introduced. If you
make a good impression, perhaps I'll bring him around, some Monday."

"Wait till you see what impression he makes, Bobby. I'm not Mrs.
Stanley, you know, and I'm not stalking any lions."

Even while he laughed at the sudden hauteur of her tone, he allowed his
glance to wander over her with manifest approval.

"Good for you, Beatrix! But Thayer is a gentleman first of all, then an
artist. A cad always shows himself at a strange club; but Thayer passed
muster at The Critic, where even Lorimer isn't altogether popular."

"Why not?" she demanded sharply.

"Difference in taste in jokes," her cousin replied evasively. "I only
spoke of it to show you that you were safe enough in knowing Thayer.
Lorimer is a good fellow; even good fellows have their foes."

"But if Mr. Thayer hasn't--"

"Thayer hasn't been here long enough to get them. Give him time,
Beatrix. Inside of six weeks, he will have every singer in New York
slandering him. There's nothing more lovable than the way musicians
stand by one another, when it's a case of fighting a successful rival."

She laughed suddenly.

"How do you know, Bobby? You're not a musician."

"Heaven forfend! If I were, I should spend half my time on The Island,
doing sentenc