o her quite
frankly, and then suggested that he might sing once more for her.

"Very well," he said as he sat down to the piano: "this is not
any more a sad song. It is about a young lady who will not let
her sweetheart kiss her, except on conditions. You shall hear the
conditions, and what he says."

Sheila began to wonder whether this innocent-eyed lad had been
imposing on her. The song was acted as well as sung. It consisted
chiefly of a dialogue between the two lovers; and the boy, with a
wonderful ease and grace and skill, mimicked the shy coquetries of
the girl, her fits of petulance and dictation, and the pathetic
remonstrances of her companion, his humble entreaties and his final
sullenness, which is only conquered by her sudden and ample consent.
"What a rare faculty of artistic representation this precocious boy
must have," she thought, "if he really exhibits all those moods and
whims and tricks of manner without having himself been in the position
of the despairing and imploring lover!"

"You were not thinking of the beautiful lady in St. Petersburg when
you were singing just now," Sheila said on his coming back to her.

"Oh no," he said carelessly: "that is nothing. You have not to imagine
anything. These people, you see them on every stage in the comedies
and farces."

"But that might happen in actual life," said Sheila, still not quite
sure about him. "Do you know that many people would think you must
have yourself been teased in that way, or you could not imitate it so
naturally?"

"I! Oh no, madame," he said seriously: "I should not act that way if I
were in love with a woman. If I found her a comedy-actress, liking
to make her amusement out of our relations, I should say to her,
'Good-evening, mademoiselle: we have both made a little mistake.'"

"But you might be so much in love with her that you could not leave
her without being very miserable."

"I might be very much in love with her, yes; but I would rather go
away and be miserable than be humiliated by such a girl. Why do you
smile, madame? Do you think I am vain, or that I am too young to
know anything about that? Perhaps both are true, but one cannot help
thinking."

"Well," said Sheila, with a grandly maternal air of sympathy and
interest, "you must always remember this--that you have something
more important to attend to than merely looking out for a beautiful
sweetheart. That is the fancy of a foolish girl. You have your
profession