through the flesh. She gave him nice dinners to eat and wines to drink, soft chairs to sit on, and, by a thousand artifices, contrived to engender the idea in his mind that she understood him, that he was not half the fool in her society that he was elsewhere. She flattered his self-love in every way; she spoke to him and quizzed him about Miss St. Vincent; congratulated him on his good fortune; praised her beauty, her acting, her singing-for she knew that nothing would be gained by abusing her, that any opposition on her part would only have the effect of stimulating his passion. So she laughed, joked, and praised her; and when the time came to decide what theatre they should go to, Mrs. White did not hesitate to say that she was dying to see The Tinman. By this means she would continue the pleasantness of Lord Wedmore's evening; it would flatter his vanity and humiliate Miss St. Vincent, who would be forced to dance and sing, while she would do the grand lady in the stage-box, flirting and applauding as the humour came to her. Throwing the bouquet was the finishing touch to a picture designed by a master.

Before the curtain was rung down on the last act, Mrs. White asked Lord Wedmore to give her her opera-cloak; and having wrapped herself well up, she took his arm, and went down to the vestibule of the theatre.

There was a slight fog; the pavements were slippery, and the house-tops could not be distinguished against the murky sky. The streets were full of people coming from the Strand and Haymarket. With bent heads they hurried along, trying to breathe as little of the foggy air as possible. They went by in groups. Dirtydressed girls passed, gathering up their skirts; boys still shouted out

the last editions of the evening papers, and offered to call cabs for those leaving the theatre. The hansoms and carriages stopped and whirled away every minute.

Refusing all invitations to supper, Mrs. White got into her brougham, bade him good-bye, and lay back on the soft cushions and calculated the progress she had made as she drove home.

CHAPTER II.

LORD WEDMORE turned up a narrow street towards the stage-door. He was curious to see Miss St. Vincent; he wondered if she were jealous, and what her comments would be on Mrs. Wallington White. Two private broughams and three hack-cabs were standing before the low doorway, out of which a lot of seedy-dressed men were hurrying, buttoning up coats and wrapping thick comforters round their necks.

Lord Wedmore passed the stagedoorkeeper with a nod, wishing that the whole club could see him, and went down the narrow flight of steps leading on to the stage. The drop-curtain was drawn up, and all the lights in the theatre were out except a large iron gas-pipe in the form of a cross, which lit with a flaring uncertain light the auditorium, now empty of all but three or four servant-women, who were covering the seats in the upper boxes with large linen cloths. The stage was dim and deserted, and the scene-shifters piled the large side-scenes up in one corner, and pushed by the actors and actresses. who stood about chatting. Mr. Lendsell, the manager, was talking to Miss St. Vincent in one of the wings, and he shouted to the girls who passed in groups up the narrow staircases leading to their dressing-rooms, that there would be a rehearsal at twelve to-morrow. The

begged them to stop to supper. The girls seemed embarrassed, they did not know whether to accept or refuse; for the fact was that their father and mother were respectively the stage-doorkeeper and principal dresser. Mr. and Mrs. Western let their daughters do pretty well as they wished, yet the girls would have liked to quiet the old people with a word of explanation. However, this was impossible: Lord Wedmore was there, and it never would have done to betray their parentage. So the elder gave her father a quick look, and they went down stairs to oysters and champagne, leaving the authors of their being to go home to a bit of bread-and-cheese.

They found Mr. Lendsell in one of the wings, talking to Mr. Chapel, the pianist. Apparently he had forgotten all about the supper, for seeing them he was seized with remorse, and rushed up a rickety staircase, and was heard knocking for admittance at Miss St. Vincent's door, and the following dialogue was the result:

'You can't come in, I am not dressed!'

'It is only me.'

Wait a

'Ah, I didn't know. second. Mrs. Jones, give me my shawl.' A minute after, a door opened, and Miss St. Vincent's voice was heard asking what he wanted.

After some whispering the actress promised something, and shut her door, and the manager went to Mdlle. Oscalia, who dressed in the same room with Miss Powell. When the dresser opened the door there was heard the sound of wrangling voices. The mention of the supper pacified them, and Mr. Lendsell-or Dick, as everybody called him-joined Lord Wedmore, who had met De Bridet and Centreboard, and was inquiring after Mr. Slaughter. Mr. Centreboard declared that he was

delighted to stay to supper, but that every place was shut up, and that they would find it impossible to get anything to eat at that hour. The news was disappointing, but Dick declared that he would get everything that was wanted-champagne, oysters, chickens, saladsand that they would sup up-stairs, which would be much better fun than going out. To put his plans into execution, it was necessary to take Lord Wedmore into one of the wings, borrow whatever loose sovereigns he had in his pocket, and tell him that there had been a seizure made up-stairs some time ago, which would account for a scarcity of furniture. This, Dick declared, did not matter; and having got ten pounds from his friend, and a couple of sacks from the property-man, he went off without giving any further explanation than to tell De Bridet to show everybody up-stairs, to light a fire, and that he would be back in a minute. The adjoining house was let always with the theatre, and there was a door of communication between the two. When the whole party had assembled on the stage, De Bridet led the way. After having passed into the front of the theatre, round the dress-circle, and up a couple of narrow staircases, he showed them into a large room without fire or light. When the gas was lit there was a general cry of astonishment. The room was absolutely empty; there was literally, with the exception of the piano, not a single piece of furniture in the place, not even a carpet on the floor. They asked De Bridet how they were to sup in a room without a table, a question he admitted he was unable to answer. Was there no other room? was he sure he had made no mistake? He had made no mistake, and there was no other room, was all he could say; and he proceeded

to light an enormous fire, which was sorely needed, for everybody was shivering with the cold. Undoubtedly the supper had been badly started, and seemed likely to prove a failure. Everybody was discontented and out of humour. Mdlle. Oscalia declared the whole thing to be une farce anglaise; and Miss St. Vincent said that if she were hoarse to-morrow night and could not sing, Dick would have no one to thank but himself. The ladies kept their wraps on, the gentlemen their greatcoats and hats, and stamped about the floor, trying to keep themselves warm. A gloom had fallen over them, and had it not been for De Bridet, who strove, with coarse joking, to keep their spirits up, it is not impossible that they would have gone home, and that Dick would have found no one to eat the supper he had gone to fetch : all prophesied that he would return empty-handed They were strangely-assorted company. There was De Bridet, a short thickset little man with a snub-nose, and the hair cut close over his high bumpy forehead. He spoke English with a vile foreign accent, and French with a still viler native one. There was old Centreboard, as he was called behind the scenes, a stout little man nearer sixty than fifty, with mutton-chop whiskers and a pompous manner. He made love to the two Miss Westerns, and it was impossible to tell which he preferred; his chief annoyance in life seemed to be that they occasionally treated him more in the light of a relation than an admirer. Mr. Semper was a tall American with a hatchet-like face, who perpetually smoked cigarettes, and annoyed Miss Powell by ever telling her that he was utterly blasé, but that if he had met her ten years ago he doubtless would have admired her very much.

a

The fire at last commenced to burn, and the ladies took off their wraps, and began to talk of the new piece and the probable distribution of parts. A slight tiff had arisen between Miss St. Vincent and Mdlle. Oscalia for possession of the music-stool, both ladies being now anxious to entertain the company with a little music. Their slight wrangle was, however, cut short by the arrival of Dick. He had a large sack over his shoulder, and was bending beneath its weight, and he was followed by a pot-boy carrying an immense hamper. In the language of the theatrical critic, Dick's entrance was a great success; it aroused the house at once to a pitch of enthusiasm.

'Now then, you lazy beggars,' he cried, 'give me a hand —my back is broken. Here are twentyfour dozen of oysters. It is one o'clock. I had a devil of a job to get them.'

But where are we going to sup?' asked half a dozen voices.

Why, here, of course,' he said, wiping his forehead. Where do you think? Don't you know what a picnic is? Come, Wedmore, do you know how to open oysters ? If you don't, Jack will show you. The supper is communistic. Every one must bring his brick.'

All laughed at the sally, and the company seemed to wake up like birds in the bushes when the rain is over and the sun shines out. Miss St. Vincent held up one of Wedmore's long, white, weak-looking hands, and asked if they thought that paw had ever opened an oyster. They were now beginning to think that the supper on the floor, which at first had so horrified them, was rather fun; and they jostled each other and crowded round to see Wedmore help the pot-boy to open the oysters. Dick and his aide-de-camp, De Bridet, in the

mean time unpacked the hamper, spread the table-cloth on the bare boards, and covered it with knives, forks, plates, lobsters, cold chickens, and salad, which latter Mdlle. Oscalia seized on, and began to mix a dressing in a very learned way. Centreboard took the wrappers off the champagne, assisted by the Miss Westerns, who chaffed and flirted with the gay old gentleman to his evident delight; and Miss Powell accompanied Mr. Semper, who sang a comic song with much gravity.

In half an hour twenty dozen of oysters had been opened, the salad was ready, the chickens were carved, and everybody was now in high good-humour. Miss St. Vin

cent sat next Lord Wedmore, and even gave him her handkerchief to wipe his oyster-dirtied hands, his own not being now in a state fit to be touched. Old Centreboard sat between the two Miss Westerns; Mdlle. Oscalia next to Dick, for whom she did not disguise her admiration; and De Bridet tried to make love to Miss Powell (a tall thin girl, with a lot of wavy flaxen hair, and a high aquiline nose), much to her disgust and Mr. Semper's amusement, who aggravated the situation by pleading De Bridet's love-case in a low drawling voice.

'You don't love me at all nowin France it was so different,' said Mdlle. Oscalia, looking tenderly at Dick.

A sudden silence had made her declaration audible, and a titter went round the cloth. As manager, Dick had to appear to be of austere virtue; so, to break the thread of Mdlle. Oscalia's attentions and partly to create a laugh, he shouted brutally at Wedmore,

'Well, Wedmore, what about the little woman in black? I guess if she saw you now there would be a row.'

Wedmore at this moment was lost in admiration for Miss St. Vincent. As she sat on the floor, with her legs tucked under her, sucking the oysters out of their shells with her coral lips, she appeared to him the realisation of all that was charming. He had forgotten all about the afternoon in the shady drawing-room, and the little dinner in the oak-panelled dining-room; all was forgotten in the delight of the supper on the bare boards. Dick's question embarrassed him not a little. He tried to look annoyed, but inwardly he was pleased; it tickled his vanity, and he hoped that the suspicion would make Miss St. Vincent jealous.

'O yes, I saw him; he was flirting with her as hard as he could, and he pretends to like me,' returned the actress, trying to pout and trying to turn her back on her lover, a matter of no small difficulty, as she was sitting on the ground. With a shriek she tried to get up, but fell into Wedmore's

arms.

'What is it?' he cried, assisting her to rise.

'O, I have the pins and needles!'

At this there was a roar of laughter, mingled with cries of pain, for more than one lady suddenly found she was a victim to the same affection. For some time they had been vainly trying to hide their ankles, and enduring tortures in so doing.

'It is dreadful this sitting on the floor,' cried Miss Powell, recklessly changing her position. 'I am not going to bother any more about my skirts.'

Mdlle. Oscalia followed her example, and took a stretch still more conspicuously.

Qu'est-ce que cela fait ?' she said; 'on voit à davantage quand nous sommes sur la scène.'

After Miss St. Vincent had