ok so ill."

"It is nothing," I answered, with a forced laugh. "I have had some bad
news this morning, and it has upset me. Lady Medenham, I have come to
beg a favour at your hands."

"If it is within my power, you know it is already granted," she said
kindly. "Won't you sit down and tell me what it is?"

"I want you to furnish me with the address of that singular old
gentleman who was at your 'at home' last evening," I replied, as I
seated myself opposite her.

"London would say that there were many singular old gentlemen at my 'at
home,'" she answered with a smile; "but my instinct tells me you mean
Monsieur Pharos."

"That, I believe, is his name," I said, and then, as if to excuse the
question, I added, "he is, as I think you heard him say, an ardent
Egyptologist."

"I do not know anything about his attainments in that direction," Lady
Medenham replied, "but he is certainly a most extraordinary person. Were
it not for his beautiful ward, whose case I must confess excites my
pity, I should not care if I never saw him again."

"She is his ward, then?" I said, with an eagerness that I could see was
not lost upon my companion. "I had made up my mind she was his
granddaughter."

"Indeed, no," Lady Medenham replied. "The poor girl's story is a very
strange and sad one. Her father was a Hungarian noble, a brilliant man
in his way, I believe, but a confirmed spendthrift. Her mother died when
she was but six years old. From a very early age she gave signs of
possessing extraordinary musical talent, and this her father, perhaps
with some strange prevision of the future, fostered with every care.
When she was barely fifteen he was killed in a duel. It was then
discovered that his money was exhausted and that the home was mortgaged
beyond all redemption to the Jews. Thus the daughter, now without
relations or friends of any sort or description, was thrown upon the
world to sink or swim just as Fate should decree. For any girl the
position would have been sufficiently unhappy, but for her, who had seen
nothing of life, and who was of an extremely sensitive disposition, it
was well-nigh insupportable. What her existence must have been like for
the next five years one scarcely likes to think. But it served its
purpose. With a bravery that excites one's admiration she supported
herself almost entirely by her music; gaining in breadth, power, and
knowledge of technique with every year. Then--where, or in what manner I
hav