on of certain great people,
partly because he liked that sort of thing, he had got into theatrical
management. "One must do something. You know," said he, "I hate farming,
never was much of a sportsman, had no turn for politics; and so, by
Jove! I thought I 'd try the stage. I mean, of course, as manager,
director, 'impresario,' or whatever you call it. I need not tell you
it's a costly amusement, so far as expense goes. I might have kept the
best house in town, and the best stables in Leicestershire, for far less
than I have indulged my dramatic tastes; but I like it: it amuses, it
interests me!" And Stocmar drew himself up and stuck his hands into his
waistcoat-pockets, as though to say, "Gaze, and behold a man rich enough
to indulge a costly caprice, and philosophic enough to pay for the
pleasure that rewards him." "Yes, sir," he added, "my last season,
though the Queen took her private box, and all my noble friends stood
stanchly to me, brought me in debt no less than thirteen thousand seven
hundred pounds! That's paying for one's whistle, sir,--eh?" cried he, as
though vain of his own defeat.

"You might have lost it in the funds, and had no pleasure for it," said
Sir William, consolingly.

"The very remark I made, sir. The very thing I said to Lord Snaresby. I
might have been dabbling in those Yankee securities, and got hit just as
hard."

Sir William made a wry face, and turned away. He hoped that Captain
Holmes had not overheard the allusion; but the Captain was deep in
"Galignani," and heard nothing.

"It is this," continued Stocmar, "recalls me so suddenly to England. We
open on the 24th, and I give you my word of honor we have neither tenor,
basso, nor barytone engaged, nor am I quite sure of my prima donna."

"Who ever was?" whispered Mrs. Morris, slyly; and then added aloud,
"Come now, and let me present Clara to you. We'll return presently, Sir
William." And, so saying, she slipped her arm within Stocmar's and led
him away.

"Who is that Captain Holmes?" asked he, as they walked along.

"Oh, a nobody; an old muff."

"Is he deaf, or is it mere pretence?"

"Deaf as a post."

"I know his face perfectly. I 've seen him about town for years back."

"Impossible! He has been collecting revenue, distressing Talookdars,
or Ryots, or whatever they are, in India, these thirty-odd years. It was
some one you mistook for him." She had her hand on the lock of the door
as she said this. She paused before ope