Roosje uit de dorne!"

She was sitting between Lady Jane and the Captain.

He looked in vain for the Gibsons, as he sang his loudest, yet
couldn't hear himself sing (he was one of a chorus of avenging
furies, I believe).

But there were three vacant seats in the same row as the Royces'.
Presently three ladies, silken hooded and cloaked--one in yellow,
one in pink, and one in blue--made their way to the empty places,
just as the chorus ceased, and sat down. Just then Orestes
(Stockhausen) stood up and lifted his noble barytone.

"Die Ruhe kehret mir zurueck"--

And the yellow-hooded lady unhooded a shapely little black head, and
it was Leah's.

"_Prosit omen!_" thought Barty--and it seemed as if his whole heart
melted within him.

He could see that Leah and Julia often looked at each other; he
could also see, during the intervals, how many double-barrelled
opera-glasses were levelled at both; it was impossible to say which
of these two lovely women was the loveliest; probably most votes
would have been for Julia, the fair-haired one, the prima donna
assoluta, the soprano, the Rowena, who always gets the biggest
salary and most of the applause.

The brunette, the contralto, the Rebecca, dazzles less, but touches
the heart all the more deeply, perhaps; anyhow, Barty had no doubt
as to which of the two voices was the voice for him. His passion was
as that of Brian de Bois-Guilbert for mere strength, except that he
was bound by no vows of celibacy. There were no moonlit platonics
about Barty's robust love, but all the chivalry and tenderness and
romance of a knight-errant underlay its vigorous complexity. He was
a good knight, though not Sir Galahad!

Also he felt very patriotic, as a good knight should ever feel, and
proud of a country which could grow such a rose as Julia, and such a
lily as Leah Gibson.

Next to Julia sat Captain Reece, romantic and handsome as ever, with
manly love and devotion expressed in every line of his face, every
movement of his body; and the heaviest mustache and the most
beautiful brown whiskers in the world. He was either a hussar or a
lancer; I forget which.

"By my halidom," mentally ejaculated Barty, "I sincerely wish thee
joy and life-long happiness, good Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe. Thou art a
right fit mate for her, peerless as she may be among women! A
benison on you both from your poor Wamba, the son of Witless."

As he went home that night, after the concert, to his try