service of her talents; but apart from this, the promise of
her appearance was counted upon to create interest. She being obviously
less restricted by conventions than other people, there existed a
permanent curiosity as to what she might do next; and it could not be
denied that she could, when she chose, be funny.

With the exception of one peculiar and superfastidious man, nobody had
the smallest objection to seeing her distort her fine mouth in comic
grimaces, or lend her fine figure to clownish acts. There were those, of
course, who called Mrs. Hawthorne vulgar; but too many persons liked her
for the charge of vulgarity to go undisputed or become loud. A good many
had reason to like her.

Aurora felt so sure of the general friendliness that not the smallest
pang of doubt, of deterring nervousness, assailed her while preparing
her scene; and when she once occupied the center of the stage the spirit
of frolic so possessed, the laughter of the people so elated and
spurred, her, that she would have turned somersaults to amuse them, and
done it with success, no doubt, for all that Aurora did on this occasion
was funny and successful. Aurora, intoxicated with applause, was that
night in her simple way inspired. Her state was, in fact, dangerous,
discretion deserted her, and before the end, carried away by the desire
to please further, make laugh more, she had done a foolish thing--a
thing which she half knew, even while she did it, to be foolish, perhaps
wrong. But not having leisure to think, she took the risk, and in time
found herself, as a result of her mistake, to have made an enemy; yes,
changed her dear and helpful friend Charlie Hunt into a secret enemy.

In an old palace on Via dei Bardi a stage had been set, filling one
fourth of the vast saloon. A goodly representation of Anglo-American
society in Florence crowded the rest. Beautifully hand-written programs
acquainted these, through thin disguises of name, with the personalities
of the performers. Only one name was really mysterious--Lew Dockstader.

After a lively overture by piano, violin, and harp, the three Misses
Hunt, in Japanese costume, gave a prettily kittenish rendering of "Three
Little Maids from School," selection from one of those Gilbert and
Sullivan operettas latterly enchanting both England and America. The
tub-shaped Herr Spiegelmeyer, dressed like a little boy and announced as
an infant prodigy, played a concerto of prodigious difficulty and