heatre just now
you'll have every one staring at you. That woman's an immense
favorite--she is the success of the piece. She's got more diamonds than
either you or I."

Thelma regarded her friend with a sort of grave wonder,--but said
nothing in reply. If Lady Winsleigh liked the performance and wished to
remain, why--then politeness demanded that Thelma should not interfere
with her pleasure by taking an abrupt leave. So she resumed her seat,
but withdrew herself far behind the curtain of the box, in a corner
where the stage was almost invisible to her eyes. Her husband bent over
her and whispered--

"I'll take you home if you wish it, dear! only say the word."

She shook her head.

"Clara enjoys it!" she answered somewhat plaintively. "We must stay."

Philip was about to address Lady Winsleigh on the subject, when suddenly
Neville touched him on the arm.

"Can I speak to you alone for a moment, Sir Philip?" he said in a
strange, hoarse whisper. "Outside the box--away from the ladies--a
matter of importance!"

He looked as if he were about to faint. He gasped rather than spoke
these words; his face was white as death, and his eyes had a confused
and bewildered stare.

"Certainly!" answered Philip promptly, though not without an accent of
surprise,--and, excusing their absence briefly to his wife and Lady
Winsleigh, they left the box together. Meanwhile the well-fed
"Humming-Bird" was capering extravagantly before the footlights,
pointing her toe in the delighted face of the stalls and singing in a in
a loud, coarse voice the following refined ditty--

"Oh my ducky, oh my darling, oh my duck, duck, duck!
If you love me you must have a little pluck, pluck, pluck!
Come and put your arms around me, kiss me once, twice, thrice,
For kissing may be naughty, but, by Jingo! it is nice!
Once, twice, thrice!
Nice, nice, nice!
Bliss, bliss, bliss!
Kiss, kiss, kiss!
Kissing may be naughty, but it's nice!"

There were several verses in this graceful poem, and each one was hailed
with enthusiastic applause. The "Humming-Bird" was triumphant, and when
her song was concluded she executed a startling _pas-seul_ full of
quaint and astonishing surprises, reaching her superbest climax, when
she backed off the stage on one portly leg,--kicking the other in
regular time to the orchestra. Lady Winsleigh laughed, and leaning
towards Thelma, who still sat in her retired