her, I am not in the least afraid of Mr. Moss. Before he should
touch me you may be sure that he would have the worst of it."

"Of course I will do what you want," said her father; "but only if it
be not necessary--"

"It is necessary. Of course, I do not wish to be dragged up to the
police-court for sticking Mr. Moss in the abdomen. That's what it
would come to if we were left together."

"Do you mean to say that you require my presence to prevent anything
so disagreeable as that?"

"If they know, or if he knows that you're in the house, there will
be nothing of the kind. Can't you arrange your debates for the other
nights?"

So it was, in fact, settled. Everybody about the theatre seemed to be
aware that something was wrong. Mr. O'Mahony had not come back to be
constantly on the watch, like a Newfoundland dog, without an object.
To himself it was an intolerable nuisance. He suspected his daughter
not at all. He was so far from suspecting her that he imagined her
to be safe, though half-a-dozen Mosses should surround her. He could
only stand idle behind the scenes, or sit in her dressing-room and
yawn. But still he did it, and asked no further questions.

Then while all this was going on, the polite old gentleman from
Covent Garden had called at her lodgings in Cecil Street, and had
found both her and her father at home.

"Oh, M. Le Gros," she had said, "I am so glad that you should meet my
father here."

Then there was a multiplicity of bowing, and M. Le Gros had declared
that he had never had so much honour done him as in being introduced
to him who was about to become the father of the undoubted prima
donna of the day. At all which Mr. O'Mahony made many bows, and
Rachel laughed very heartily; but in the end an engagement was
proposed and thankfully accepted, which was to commence in the
next October. It did not take two minutes in the making. It was an
engagement only for a couple of months; but, as M. Le Gros observed,
such an engagement would undoubtedly lead to one for all time. If
Covent Garden could only secure the permanent aid of Mademoiselle
O'Mahony, Covent Garden's fortune would be as good as made. M. Le
Gros had quite felt the dishonesty of even suggesting a longer
engagement to mademoiselle. The rate of payment would be very much
higher, ve-ry, ve-ry, ve-ry much higher when mademoiselle's voice
should have once been heard on the boards of a true operatic theatre.
M. Le Gros had done himself t