At the head of the table sat Lord Severn, a hale, hearty old gentleman of seventy.  He was devoted to fox-hunting, and always ready to get up at five o’clock in the morning when a good run was in prospect.  His wife sat opposite him.  She was a beautiful old lady, her face clear-cut as a cameo.  Her features were regular, and her bright black eyes flashed under her high intellectual forehead with a brilliancy a girl of sixteen might have envied.  Her hair was snowy white, and rolled back a la pompadour.

To-night she was dressed in a gown of heliotrope satin, trimmed with white point lace, and here and there in her hair and gown she wore pins made of the Severn diamonds.  Round her neck glistened a magnificent necklace of these gems, which were of world-wide fame, having been given to Lord Severn by an Indian rajah as a recompense for saving him from drowning.

Lady Severn had been talking about her celebrated guest, who was not at dinner this evening.

“I am sorry you have not met Mademoiselle Laurentia; unfortunately she has been suffering for the last two days with a very severe nervous headache, and to-night did not feel inclined to come to dinner.  However, I hope later on she will be better, and able to sing for you.  Before dinner she went out into the garden, thinking the cool air would do her head good.”

“Yes, I am very anxious to meet her,” replied Lady Margaret, “and Noel is, for him, quite excited about her, coming as she does from Canada.”

“Yes, she comes from Canada, and she has quite a romantic history.  Perhaps she will tell you about that herself some day.  She has only been with us a week, but already we are very fond of her, she is such a winning little creature, and her French Canadian songs are charming.”

“Oh!  Noel will be delighted,” said Lady Margaret; “he waxes enthusiastic on the subject of French Canadian boat-songs.  Do you think Mademoiselle Laurentia would spend a week with us at the Glen?”

“No, I’m afraid not; she is engaged to sing at Her Majesty’s next week, and goes from here to London.  You may have better luck in the autumn, though, when her London engagement is over.”

“I’m sorry she can’t come now, for we should have been delighted to have her at the Glen.”

“Elsie dear,” said Lady Severn to her daughter, a tall, fair girl of nineteen, who was endeavoring to amuse The McAllister, a difficult task—­“Elsie dear, what part of Canada does Mademoiselle Laurentia come from?”

“Oh! somewhere on the banks of the St. Lawrence—­some unpronounceable name.”

“Delightfully vague,” said Noel McAllister.  “The ideas you English people have about our country are refreshing.  One young lady, whom I supposed to have been fairly well educated, asked me, in the most matter-of-fact tone, whether we went down the rapids in toboggans.  I can assure you it required a strong effort of will on my part to refrain from laughing outright.”