and ask your address.  I answer—­Why to me?  There is Mr. Lehmann; and at the stage-door they will know his address, for letters to go.  So, you see, you will not be alone in the high-lands, when you have such a charming visitor with you, and she will talk to you, not from behind a fan, as on the stage, but all the day, and you will have great comfort and satisfaction.  Yes, I see her arrive at the castle.  She rings at the gate; your noble friends come out, and ask who she is; they discover, and drive away such a person as a poor cantatrice.  But you hear, you come flying out, you rescue her from scorn—­ah, it is pitiable, they all weep, they say to you that you are honorable and just, that they did wrong to despise your charming friend.  Perhaps they ask her to dine; and she sings to them after; and Leo says to himself, Poor thing; no; her voice is not so reedy.  The denouement?—­but I am not come to it yet; I have not arranged what will arrive then.

“What is the time of your return, Leo?  And you know what will be then?  You will find on the stage another Grace Mainwaring, who will sing always out of tune, and be so stupid that you will have fury and will complain to the Manager.  Ah, there is now no one to speak with you from behind a fan—­only a dull heavy stupid.  Misera me!  What shall I do?  All the poetry departed from Harry Thornhill’s singing—­there is no more fascination for him—­he looks up to the window—­he sings ’The starry night brings me no rest’—­and he says ‘Bother to that stupid Italian girl!—­why am I to sing to her?’ Poor Leo, he will be disconsolate; but not for long.  No; Miss Burgoyne will be coming back; and then he will have some one for to talk with from behind the fan.

“Now, Leo, if you can read any more, I must attend to what you call beesness.  When Miss Burgoyne returns, I do not go back to be under-study to Miss Girond—­no—­Mr. Lehmann has said he is pleased with me, and I am to take the part of Miss Considine, who goes into the provincial company.  You know it is almost the same consequence as Grace Mainwaring towards the public, and I am, oh, very proud of such an advancement; and I have written to Pandiani, and to Carmela and Andrea, and Mrs. Grey is kinder than ever, and I take lessons always and always, when she has a half-hour from the house-governing.  I am letter perfect—­is it what they say?—­in this part as in the other; my bad English does not appear on the stage; I practise and practise always.  I am to share in Miss Girond’s room, and that will be good, for she is friendly to me, though sometimes a little saucy in her amusement.  Already I hear that the theatre-attendant people are coming back—­and you—­when is your return?  You had benevolence to the poor chorus-singer, Signor Leo; and now she is prima-donna do you think she will forget you?  No, no!  To-day I was going up Regent Street, and in a window behold! a portrait of Mr. Lionel Moore and a portrait of Miss