es
himself like an acrobat, springing on to the desired key without
preparation," and so on until the old stag was interrupted by a friend,
a lady who had just recognised him. As she squeezed past, she stopped to
tell him that Wagner had spoiled her for all other music. She had been
to hear Beethoven's "Eroica" Symphony once more, but it had seemed to
her like a pious book.

Evelyn sang "Elsa's Dream," "Elizabeth's Prayer" and the "Liebestod,"
and when she was recalled at the end of the concert, she sang Senta's
ballad as a _bonne bouche_, something that the audience had not
expected, and would send her friends away more than ever pleased with
her.

Her father had not been able to come--that was a disappointment--but
Ulick had accompanied her beautifully, following her voice, making the
most of it at every moment. When she left the platform, she took both
his hands and thanked him. She loved him in that instant as a musician
and as a mistress. But the joy of the moment, the ecstasy of admiration,
was interrupted by Monsignor Mostyn and Father Daly. They too wished to
thank her. In his courtly manner, Monsignor told her of the pleasure her
singing had given him. But when Father Daly mentioned that the nuns
expected her to tea, her courage seemed to slip away. The idea of a
convent frightened her, and she tried to excuse herself, arguing that
she had to go back to London.

"If you're engaged for dinner, I'm afraid there will not be time,"
Monsignor said. She looked up, and, meeting his eyes, did not dare to
lie to him.

"No; I'm not dining out, but I promised to take Mr. Dean back in my
carriage."

"Mr. Dean will, I'm sure, not mind waiting."

It seemed to Evelyn that Monsignor suspected her relations with Ulick,
and to refuse to go to the convent, she thought, would only confirm him
in his suspicions. So she accepted the invitation abruptly, and when
they turned to go, she said--

"My carriage is here; I'll drive you," and, at the same moment, she
remembered that Ulick was waiting. But she felt that she could not drive
back to London with him after leaving the convent, and she hoped that
Monsignor would not correctly interpret the disappointment which was
plain upon his face. No; he must go back by train--no, there would be no
use his calling that evening at Park Lane.

She wore a black and white striped silk dress, with a sort of muslin
bodice covered with lace, and there was a large bunch of violets in her