fig-blabbers_; and when you are patient enough to study, and wise
enough to appreciate Plutarch, you will learn the derivation of the
title which justly belongs to multitudes of people."

Making as near an approach to a grimace as the lines of grace (which
she never violated) would permit, Mrs. Carew lifted one shoulder
almost out of its satin fetters, and turned to her host.

"Miss Neville should have reigned at the Hotel de Rambouillet when
_precieuse_ was more honoured than now. I fear if society suspected
the vastness of her learning, it would create a panic wherever she
goes."

Olga was leaving the room, had almost reached the door, but at the
last words turned, and her face sparkled mischievously.

"Beautiful Egypt is acquainted with sphinxes, and should be quick at
guessing riddles. Will Cleopatra or Antony answer my conundrum? When
my erudition creates a panic, why am I like those who dwelt about
Chemmis, when the tragical fate of Osiris was accomplished?"

Mr. Palma answered promptly:

"Because the Pans who inhabited that region were the first who
learned of the disaster, and as they spread the fatal news among the
people, all sudden public frights and shocks have been ever since
called panics. The carriage is ready. We shall be late at the
wedding. Olga, where is your shawl?"

As they quitted the room together, he added in an undertone:

"Your Parthian warfare would have justified me in returning your
arrow, but I was never an expert in the use of small arms."

With her hand upon the balustrade of the stairs, which she was
ascending, Olga looked down on him, and her eyes blazed with an
intensity of scorn and defiance.

"To your empty quiver, not your leniency, I am indebted for my
safety. Your arrows were all skilfully barbed, and even the venom of
asps distilled upon them; but you have done your worst, and failed.
Parthian tactics ill suit my temper, let me tell you, and just now I
should infinitely prefer the Scythian style. Were I only for one
brief hour Tomyris, I would carry your head, sir, where she held that
of Cyrus, in a bag."

He walked on to the front door, and those in the sitting-room heard
Olga run up the steps, singing with _gusto_ that strain from Far
Diavolo, ending, "Diavolo! Diavolo!"

The "Cantata of Undine" had been composed by a gifted and fashionable
_amateur_, and was performed by young people who belonged to _le beau
monde_, consequently at an early hour on Friday evenin