satin with a very considerable train, while there were
diamond stars in her light brown hair, and at her bosom a bunch of deep
crimson roses. At the head of the stairs they encountered Mrs. Mellord,
who received the famous young baritone with the most marked kindness.
Indeed, he seemed to be known to a considerable number of the people who
were assembled in these spacious rooms of white and gold; while those
who were not personally acquainted with him easily recognized him, for
were not his photographs in every stationer's window in London? The
Ladies Sybil and Rosamund Bourne they found in the studio, talking to
the great Academician himself. These two young ladies were even taller,
as they likewise were fairer in complexion, than their married sister;
moreover, they were much more dignified in demeanor than she was, though
that may have merely arisen from maidenly reserve. But when Mr. Mellord
exhibited at the Royal Academy his much-talked-of picture of the three
sisters, most people seemed to think that though the two younger ladies
might have carried off the palm for their handsome, pale, regularly cut
features and their calm, observant eyes, there was something in the
bright, vivacious look of the eldest that outweighed these advantages;
while in society, and especially as a hostess in her own house, the
charm of Lady Adela's manner, and her quick, sympathetic, engaging ways
made her a universal favorite. And one was tempted, in amazement, to ask
how it came about that a woman so alert and intelligent, so conversant
with the world, so ready to note the ridiculous side of things, could
not understand what a poor and lamentable figure she made as an amateur
authoress? But had the Lady Sybil any less confidence in her musical
attainments, when she would undertake to play a duet with one of the
most distinguished of professional musicians, she on the violin, he at
the piano? And here, at this very moment, was Lady Rosamund talking to
by far and away the greatest painter in England, and there was a picture
before them on an easel, and she was saying to him, with perfect
coolness,

"Why, I see you use cadmium yellow, Mr. Mellord! I _never_ do."

Somehow an impression got abroad through these brilliant rooms that Mr.
Moore was going to sing; and at length Mrs. Mellord came to the young
man and frankly preferred her request.

"Oh, yes," said he, most good-naturedly.

"The serenade?" she ventured to hint.

"Oh, not th