“You see how it is, Nina,” he said, in tones of deep vexation.  “That fellow Collier has been allowed to gag and gag until the whole piece is filled with his music-hall tomfoolery, and the music has been made quite subsidiary.  I wonder Lehmann doesn’t get a lot of acrobats and conjurors, and let Miss Burgoyne and you and me stop at home.  “The Squire’s Daughter” is really a very pretty piece, with some delightful melody running through it; but that fellow has vulgarized it into the lowest burlesque.”

“What does it matter to you, Leo?” Nina said.  “What he does is separate from you.  He cannot vulgarize your singing.”

“But he makes all that clowning of his so important—­it has become so big a feature of the piece that any friends of yours coming to see the little opera might very naturally say, ’Oh, is this the kind of thing he figures in?  This is an intellectual entertainment, truly!’”

“But you do not join in it, Leo!” Nina protested.

“In the most gagging scene of all, I’ve got to stand and look on the whole time!” he said.

“Oh, no, Leo,” Nina said, with mock sympathy, “you can listen to Miss Burgoyne as she talks to you from behind her fan.”

“Those two ladies I told you of,” he continued, “who are coming on Saturday night—­I wonder what they will think of all that low-comedy stuff.  I begin to wish I hadn’t asked them to come behind, but I thought it might be a sort of inducement.  Miss Cunyngham was very kind to me when I was in the Highlands, and this was all I could think of; but I don’t think she has much of the frivolous curiosity of her sisters-in-law; and I am not sure that her mother and she would even care much for the honor of having tea in Miss Burgoyne’s room.  No, I wish I hadn’t asked them.”

“Do you value their opinion so highly, then, Leo?” Nina asked, gently.

“Oh, yes,” he said, with some hesitation—­“that is, I shouldn’t like them to form any unfavorable impression—­to go away with any scornful feeling towards comic opera, and towards the people engaged in it; I should like them to think well of the piece.  I suppose I couldn’t bribe Collier to leave out the half of his gag, or the whole of it, for that particular night.  Did you see what one of the papers said about the 400th performance?—­that the fate of “The Squire’s Daughter” had for some time been doubtful, but that it had been saved by the increased prominence given to the part played by Mr. Fred Collier!—­a compliment to the public taste!—­the piece saved by lugging in a lot of music-hall buffoonery!”

“But, Leo,” Nina said, “your friends who are coming on Saturday night will not think you responsible for all that.”

“People are apt to judge of you by your associates, Nina,” he said, absently; he was clearly looking forward to this visit with some compunction, not to say alarm.

Then he went to Miss Burgoyne.  Miss Burgoyne had forgiven him for having introduced Percival Miles to the Richmond dinner-party; indeed, she was generally as ready to forgive as she was quick to take offence.