monstration to dread or endure, save from one
quarter; and as that was English I could bear it. Ginevra Fanshawe made
no scruple of--at times--catching me as I was crossing the carre,
whirling me round in a compulsory waltz, and heartily enjoying the
mental and physical discomfiture her proceeding induced. Ginevra
Fanshawe it was who now broke in upon "my learned leisure." She carried
a huge music-book under her arm.

"Go to your practising," said I to her at once: "away with you to the
little salon!"

"Not till I have had a talk with you, chere amie. I know where you have
been spending your vacation, and how you have commenced sacrificing to
the graces, and enjoying life like any other belle. I saw you at the
concert the other night, dressed, actually, like anybody else. Who is
your tailleuse?"

"Tittle-tattle: how prettily it begins! My tailleuse!--a fiddlestick!
Come, sheer off, Ginevra. I really don't want your company."

"But when I want yours so much, ange farouche, what does a little
reluctance on your part signify? Dieu merci! we know how to manoeuvre
with our gifted compatriote--the learned 'ourse Britannique.' And so,
Ourson, you know Isidore?"

"I know John Bretton."

"Oh, hush!" (putting her fingers in her ears) "you crack my tympanums
with your rude Anglicisms. But, how is our well-beloved John? Do tell
me about him. The poor man must be in a sad way. What did he say to my
behaviour the other night? Wasn't I cruel?"

"Do you think I noticed you?"

"It was a delightful evening. Oh, that divine de Hamal! And then to
watch the other sulking and dying in the distance; and the old lady--my
future mamma-in-law! But I am afraid I and Lady Sara were a little rude
in quizzing her."

"Lady Sara never quizzed her at all; and for what _you_ did, don't make
yourself in the least uneasy: Mrs. Bretton will survive _your_ sneer."

"She may: old ladies are tough; but that poor son of hers! Do tell me
what he said: I saw he was terribly cut up."

"He said you looked as if at heart you were already Madame de Hamal."

"Did he?" she cried with delight. "He noticed that? How charming! I
thought he would be mad with jealousy?"

"Ginevra, have you seriously done with Dr. Bretton? Do you want him to
give you up?"

"Oh! you know he _can't_ do that: but wasn't he mad?"

"Quite mad," I assented; "as mad as a March hare."

"Well, and how _ever_ did you get him home?"

"How _ever_, indeed! Have you no pity on his p