photograph was not to her fancy.

"I am vastly beholden to you both," said Judith, who has a graceful way
of receiving compliments. "But," turning to Pasquale, "we have travelled
far from Abyssinia."

"To Sir Marcus's mantel-piece. Suppose we stay there."

"There is you and me and Mrs. Mainwaring," said the literal Carlotta,
"and I am the big one in the middle. It was made big--big," she added,
extending her arms in her exaggerating way. "I was wearing this dress."

"Mr. Pasquale and I will have to enlarge our frames, Marcus," said
Judith, "or we shall be jealous. We shall have to make common cause
together."

"We will declare an inoffensive alliance," laughed Pasquale.

"Offensive if you like," said Judith.

It may have been some effect of the glitter of lights, but I vow I saw
a swift interchange of glances. Pasquale immediately turned to Carlotta
with a jesting remark, and Judith engaged me in conversation on our old
days in Rome. Suddenly she swerved from the topic, and leaning forward,
indicated our companions with an imperceptible motion of her head.

"Don't you think," she said in a low voice, "they are a well-matched
pair? Both young and picturesque; it would solve many things."

I glanced round. Carlotta, elbow on the table and chin in hand, was
looking deep into Pasquale's eyes, just as she has looked into mine. Her
lips had the half-sensuous, half-childish pout provocative of kisses.

"Do, and I will love you," I heard her say.

Oh, those dove-notes, those melting eyes, those lips! Oh, the horrible
fool passion that burns out my soul and brain and reduces me to rave
like a lovelorn early Victorian tailor! Which was worse I know not--the
spasm of jealousy or the spasm of self-contempt that followed it. At
that moment the music ceased suddenly on a loud crashing chord.

The moment seemed to be magnetic to all but Carlotta, who was enjoying
herself prodigiously. Our three personalities appeared to vibrate
rudely one against the other. I was conscious that Judith read me, that
Pasquale read Judith, that again something telegraphic passed between
them. The waiter offered me partridge. Pasquale quickly turned from
Carlotta to his left-hand neighbour.

"I think we ought to drink Faust's health, don't you?"

I started. Had I not myself traced the analogy?

"Faust?" queried Judith at a loss.

"Our friend Faust opposite me," said Pasquale, raising his champagne
glass. "Hasn't he been transformed from