"Well, I shall never ask anyone to 'take tickets' to hear me!" she said, laughing. "A famous prima donna never does that kind of thing!"
"How do you know you will be famous?" asked Lady Beaulyon, amused.
"Instinct!" replied Cicely, gaily—"Just as the bird knows, it will be able to make a nest, so do I know I shall be famous! Don't let us talk any more about singing! Come and see the garden, Gigue!—I'll take you round it—and I want a chat with you."
The two went off together, much to the relief of the rest of the party.
"What an extraordinary-looking creature!" said Mrs. Bludlip
Courtenay—"Is he quite a gentleman, Maryllia?"
Maryllia smiled.
"He is a gentleman according to my standard," she said. "He is honest, true to his friends, and faithful to his work. I ask nothing more of any man."
She changed the subject of conversation,—and Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay, in the privacy of her own apartment, confided to her husband that she really thought Maryllia Vancourt was a little 'off her head'—just a little.
"Because, really,"—said Mrs. Courtenay—"when it comes to harbouring geniuses in one's own house, it is quite beyond all reason. I sympathise so much with poor Mrs. Fred! If Maryllia would only marry Lord Roxmouth, all these flighty and fantastic notions of hers about music and faithful friends and honour and principle would disappear. I am sure they would!—and she would calm down and be just like one of us."
Mr. Bludlip Courtenay stared hard through his monocle.