left open for them; and when they went into the large
dining-room, where the ladies had already assembled, there was no lack
of either light or color there, for all the candles were ablaze, and
the long table was brilliant with silver and Venetian glass and flowers.
And, indeed, this proved to be a very merry and talkative supper-party;
for, as soon as supper was served, the servants were sent off to bed;
Lord Rockminster constituted himself butler, and Percy Lestrange handed
round the pheasants' eggs and asparagus and such things; so that there
was no alien ear in the room. Lionel Moore, being less familiar with the
house, was exempted from these duties; in truth, it was rather the
women-folk who waited upon him--and petted him as he was used to be
petted, wherever that fortunate young man happened to go.

However, it was not supper that was chiefly occupying the attention of
this band of eager chatterers (from whom the silent Lord Rockminster,
walking gravely round the table with a large jug of champagne-cup in his
hand, must honorably be distinguished), it was the contemplated
production of a little musical entertainment called "The Chaplet," by
Dr. Boyce, which they were about to attempt, out-of-doors, on some
afternoon still to be fixed, and before a select concourse of friends.
And the most vivacious of the talkers was the red-headed and merry-eyed
young maiden in blue silver and brocade, who seemed incapable of keeping
her rosebud of a mouth closed for more than a minute at a time.

"I do think it's awfully hard on me," she was protesting. "Look how I'm
handicapped! Everybody knows that Pastora was played by Kitty Olive; and
everybody will say, 'That Lestrange girl has cheek, hasn't she? thinks
she can play Kitty Olive's parts!' And you know Pastora is always
calling attention to her fascinating appearance."

"Georgie, you're fishing for compliments!" the young matron said,
severely.

"No, I'm not, Adela," said Miss Lestrange, who, indeed, looked as
charming as any Kitty Olive could ever have done. "Then there's another
thing: fancy my having to sing a duet with Mr. Moore! It's all very well
for you to sing a song off your own bat--"

"That _would_ be difficult, Georgie," Lady Adela observed.

"Oh, you know what I mean. But when you come to sing in conjunction with
an artist like Mr. Moore, what then? They will say it is mere
presumption, when my little squeak of a voice gets drowned altogether."

"If you