ones, but who will applaud, applaud--in herself
a prodigious _claque_! And now, behold! Miss Burgoyne arrives--Miss
Burgoyne in grand state--and nevertheless you are her dear Nina, her
charming friend, although in her heart she hates you for having carried
off the handsome Lionel--"

"Estelle," said Nina, gently, "you let your tongue run away. When I
picture to myself Lionel in the future, I leave the space beside him
empty. Who is to fill it?--perhaps he has never given a thought to that.
Perhaps it will always be empty; perhaps one of his fashionable friends
will suddenly appear there, who knows? He does not seem ever to look
forward; if I remonstrate about his expenditure, he laughs. And why
should he give me things of value? I am not covetous. If he wishes to
express kindness, is not a word better than any silver cup; If he wishes
to be remembered when he is absent, would not the smallest message sent
in a letter be of more value than a bracelet with sapphires--"

"Oh, Nina," her companion exclaimed, laughing, "what a thing to
say!--that you would rather have a scrap of writing from Lionel Moore
than a bracelet with sapphires--"

"No, Estelle, I did not," Nina protested, rather indignantly; "I was
talking of the value of presents generally, and of their use or
uselessness."

"And yet you seemed very proud of that loving-cup, Nina, and of the
inscription on it," Estelle said, demurely; and there the subject ended,
for they were now approaching the photographer's.

It was a Saturday night that Honnor Cunyngham and her mother--who had
come up from Brighton for a few days--had been induced to fix for their
visit to the New Theatre; and as the evening drew near, Lionel became
more and more anxious, so that he almost regretted having persuaded
them. All his other troubles and worries he could at once carry to Nina,
whose cheerful common-sense and abundant courage made light of them and
lent him heart; but this one he had to ponder over by himself; he did
not care to tell Nina with what concern he looked forward to the
impressions that Miss Cunyngham might form of himself and his
surroundings when brought immediately into contact with them. And yet he
was not altogether silent.

"You see how it is, Nina," he said, in tones of deep vexation. "That
fellow Collier has been allowed to gag and gag until the whole piece is
filled with his music-hall tomfoolery, and the music has been made quite
subsidiary. I wonder Lehman