far out over the quivering plain
of the sea. Then the soup, and the boiled corn, and the
_caccia-cavallo_--you Neapolitan girl!--and nothing will serve you but
that orris-scented stuff that you fondly believe to be honest wine. You
will permit a cigarette? Then shall we descend to the beach again, and
get into a boat, and lie down, and find ourselves shot into the Blue
Grotto--find ourselves floating between heaven and earth in a
hollow-sounding globe of azure flame?... Dreams--dreams! "_Io te voglio
bene assaje, e tu non pienz' a me!_"

During the first period of Miss Burgoyne's engagement to Lionel Moore,
all went well. Jane, her dresser, had quite a wonderful time of it; her
assiduous and arduous ministrations were received with the greatest
good-nature; now she was never told, if she hurt her mistress in lacing
up a dress, that she deserved to have her face slapped. Miss Burgoyne
was amiability itself towards the whole company, so far as she had any
relations with them: and at her little receptions in the evening she was
all brightness and merriment, even when she had to join in the
conversation from behind the heavy _portiere_. Whether this small
coterie in the theatre guessed at the true state of affairs, it is hard
to say; but at least Miss Burgoyne did not trouble herself much about
concealment. She called her affianced lover "Lionel," no matter who
chanced to be present; and she would ask him to help her to hand the
tea, just as if he already belonged to her. Moreover, she told him that
Mr. Percival Miles had some suspicion of what had happened.

"Not that I would admit anything definite," said the young lady. "There
will be time enough for that. And I did not want a scene. But I'm sorry.
It does seem a pity that so much devotion should meet with no requital."

"Devotion!" said Lionel.

"Oh, of course you don't know what devotion is. Your fashionable friends
have taught you what good form is; you are _blase_, indifferent; it's
not women, it's cards, that interest you. You have no fresh feeling
left," continued this _ingenue_ of the greenroom. "You have been so
spoiled--"

"I see he's up at the Garden Club," said Lionel, to change the subject.

"Who?"

"The young gentleman you were just speaking of."

"Percy Miles? What does he want with an all-night club?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"Ah, well, I suppose he is not likely to get in," she said, turning to
the tall mirror. "Percy is very nice--just the