ad such an uncomfortable feeling that he hated to see
Hoskins again, and he was relieved when the sculptor failed to make his
usual call, the next evening. He had not been at dinner either, and he
did not reappear for several days. Then he merely said that he had been
spending the time at Chioggia, with a French painter who was making some
studies down there, and they all took up the old routine of their
friendly life without embarrassment.

At first it seemed to Elmore that Lily was a little shy of Hoskins, and
he thought that she resented his using her charm in his art; but before
the evening wore away, he lost this impression. They all got into a long
talk about home, and she took her place at the piano and played some of
the war-songs that had begun to supersede the old negro melodies. Then
she wandered back to them, with fingers that idly drifted over the keys,
and ended with "Stop dat knockin'," in which Hoskins joined with his
powerful bass in the recitative "Let me in," and Elmore himself had half
a mind to attempt a part. The sculptor rose as she struck the keys with
a final crash, but lingered, as his fashion was when he had something to
propose: if he felt pretty sure that the thing would be liked, he
brought it in as if he had only happened to remember it. He now drew out
a large, square, ceremonious-looking envelope, at which he glanced as
if, after all, he was rather surprised to see it, and said, "Oh, by the
by, Mrs. Elmore, I wish you'd tell me what to do about this thing.
Here's something that's come to me in my official capacity, but it isn't
exactly consular business,--if it was I don't believe I should ask _any_
lady for instructions,--and I don't know exactly what to do. It's so
long since I corresponded with a princess that I don't even know how to
answer her letter."

The ladies perhaps feared a hoax of some sort, and would not ask to see
the letter; and then Hoskins recognized his failure to play upon their
curiosity with a laugh, and gave the letter to Mrs. Elmore. It was an
invitation to a mask ball, of which all Venice had begun to speak. A
great Russian lady, who had come to spend the winter in the Lagoons, and
had taken a whole floor at one of the hotels, had sent out her cards,
apparently to all the available people in the city, for the event which
was to take place a fortnight later. In the mean time, a thrill of
preparation was felt in various quarters, and the ordinary course of
life wa