ch a thing as a last evening."

"Thank you for calling me by that name," she replied. "It carries me
back to a happier time. I hardly know myself as La Senorita Campaneo.
It all seems to me so strange and unreal, that, were it not for a few
visible links with the past, I should feel as if I had died and passed
into another world."

"May I ask whether you intend to renew your engagement?" inquired he.

She looked up quickly and earnestly, and said, "What would you advise
me?"

"The brevity of our acquaintance would hardly warrant my assuming the
office of adviser," replied he modestly.

The shadow of a blush flitted over her face, as she answered, in a
bashful way: "Excuse me if the habit of associating you with the
memory of my father makes me forget the shortness of our acquaintance.
Beside, you once asked me if ever I was in trouble to call upon you as
I would upon a brother."

"It gratifies me beyond measure that you should remember my offer, and
take me at my word," responded he. "But in order to judge for you, it
is necessary to know something of your own inclinations. Do you enjoy
the career on which you have entered?"

"I should enjoy it if the audience were all my personal friends,"
answered she. "But I have lived such a very retired life, that I
cannot easily become accustomed to publicity; and there is something
I cannot exactly define, that troubles me with regard to operas. If
I could perform only in pure and noble characters, I think it would
inspire me; for then I should represent what I at least wish to be;
but it affects me like a discord to imagine myself in positions which
in reality I should scorn and detest."

"I am not surprised to hear you express this feeling," responded he.
"I had supposed it must be so. It seems to me the _libretti_ of operas
are generally singularly ill conceived, both morally and artistically.
Music is in itself so pure and heavenly, that it seems a desecration
to make it the expression of vile incidents and vapid words. But is
the feeling of which you speak sufficiently strong to induce you to
retire from the brilliant career now opening before you, and devote
yourself to concert-singing?"

"There is one thing that makes me hesitate," rejoined she. "I wish
to earn money fast, to accomplish certain purposes I have at heart.
Otherwise, I don't think I care much for the success you call so
brilliant. It is certainly agreeable to feel that I delight the
audience, thou