eakfast. "Good-bye," she said, "do not
be angry," and so vanished like lightning. This was one of the cases
which made her heart beat with fun and exhilaration, when she was, as
she told the Contessa, nearly caught. She got into the shelter of the
east rooms, panting with the run she had made, her complexion brilliant,
her eyes shining. "I thought I should certainly be seen this time," she
said.

The Contessa looked at the girl with admiring eyes. "I could almost have
wished you had," she said. "You are superb like that." They talked
without a shade of embarrassment on this subject, upon which English
mothers and children would blush and hesitate.

This was the day, the great day of the revelation which the Contessa had
promised. There had been a great deal of discussion and speculation
about it in the company. No one, even Sir Tom, knew what it was. Lucy,
though she was not clever, had her wits sharpened in this respect, and
she had divined; but no one else had any conception of what was coming.
Two of the elder men had gone, very sorry to miss the great event,
whatever it was. And young Montjoie had talked of nothing else since the
promise had been made. The conversation in the drawing-room late in the
afternoon chiefly turned on this subject, and the lady visitors too
heard of it, and were not less curious. She who had the two daughters
addressed herself to Lucy for information. She said: "I hear some
novelty is expected to-night, Lady Randolph, something the Contessa has
arranged. She is very clever, is she not? and sings delightfully, I
know. There is so much more talent of that kind among foreigners than
there is among us. Is it tableaux? The girls are so longing to know."

"Oh, yes, we want so much to know," said the young ladies in blue.

"I don't think it is tableaux," Lucy said; "but I have not been told
what it is."

This the ladies did not believe, but they asked no further questions.
"It is clear that she does not wish us to know; so, girls, you must say
nothing," was the conclusion of the mother.

They said a great deal, notwithstanding this warning. The house
altogether was excited on the subject, and even Mr. Derwentwater took
part in the speculations. He looked upon the Contessa as one of those
inscrutable women of the stage, the Sirens who beguile everybody. She
had some design upon Montjoie, he felt, and it was only the youth's
impertinence which prevented Mr. Derwentwater from interfering. He