here, all,
the great artists I shall never see. Think of Rachel--look at her grand
portrait there!--and how she stood on these very boards and trailed over
them the robes of Hermione and Phedre." The girl broke out theatrically,
as on the spot was right, not a bit afraid of her voice as soon as it
rolled through the room; appealing to her companions as they stood under
the chandelier and making the other persons present, who had already
given her some attention, turn round to stare at so unusual a specimen
of the English miss. She laughed, musically, when she noticed this, and
her mother, scandalised, begged her to lower her tone. "It's all right.
I produce an effect," said Miriam: "it shan't be said that I too haven't
had my little success in the maison de Moliere." And Sherringham
repeated that it was all right--the place was familiar with mirth and
passion, there was often wonderful talk there, and it was only the
setting that was still and solemn. It happened that this evening--there
was no knowing in advance--the scene was not characteristically
brilliant; but to confirm his assertion, at the moment he spoke,
Mademoiselle Dunoyer, who was also in the play, came into the room
attended by a pair of gentlemen.

She was the celebrated, the perpetual, the necessary _ingenue_, who with
all her talent couldn't have represented a woman of her actual age. She
had the gliding, hopping movement of a small bird, the same air of
having nothing to do with time, and the clear, sure, piercing note, a
miracle of exact vocalisation. She chaffed her companions, she chaffed
the room; she might have been a very clever little girl trying to
personate a more innocent big one. She scattered her amiability
about--showing Miriam how the children of Moliere took their ease--and
it quickly placed her in the friendliest communication with Peter
Sherringham, who already enjoyed her acquaintance and who now extended
it to his companions, and in particular to the young lady _sur le point
d'entrer au theatre._

"You deserve a happier lot," said the actress, looking up at Miriam
brightly, as if to a great height, and taking her in; upon which
Sherringham left them together a little and led Mrs. Rooth and young
Dashwood to consider further some of the pictures.

"Most delightful, most curious," the old woman murmured about
everything; while Basil Dashwood exclaimed in the presence of most of
the portraits: "But their ugliness--their ugliness: di