He would rather she had continued talking about the far Aivron and the Geinig; he did not care to come back to the theatre and Kate Burgoyne.
"One gets used to everything, I suppose," he said.
"But still it must be gratifying to you to be in so successful a piece—to be aware of the delight you are giving, evening after evening, to so many people," Miss Honnor reminded him. "By the way, how is the pretty Italian girl—the young lady you said you had known in Naples?"
"She has left the New Theatre," he said, not lifting his eyes.
"Oh, really. Then I'm sure that must have been unfortunate for the operetta; for she had such a beautiful voice—she sang so exquisitely—and besides that there was go much refinement and grace in everything she did. I remember mother was so particularly struck with her; we have often spoken of her since; her manner on the stage was so charming—so gentle and graceful—it had a curious fascination that was irresistible. And I confess I was delighted with the little touch of foreign accent; perhaps if she had not been so very pretty, one would have been less ready to be pleased with everything. And where is she now, Mr. Moore?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Lionel said, rather unwillingly; he would rather not have been questioned.
"And is that how friendships in the theatre are kept up?" Miss Honnor said, reproachfully. "But it is all very well for us idle folk to talk. I suppose you are all far too busy to give much time to correspondence."
"No, we have not much time for letter-writing," he said, absently.
Indeed, it was well for him that he had this companion who could talk to him in her quiet, low tones; for he was out of spirits and inclined to be silent; and certainly he had no wish to join in the frothy discussion which Octavius Quirk had started at the upper end of the table. Mr. Mellord, the famous Academician, had taken in Lady Adela to dinner; but she had placed Mr. Quirk on her left hand; and from this position of authority he was roaring away like any sucking-dove and challenging everybody to dispute his windy platitudes. Lord Rockminster, down at the other end, mute and in safety, was looking on at this motley little assemblage, and probably wondering what his three gifted sisters would do next. It was hard that he had no Miss Georgie Lestrange to amuse him; perhaps Miss Georgie had been considered ineligible for admission into this intellectual coterie. Poor man!—and to think he might have been dining in solitary comfort at his club, at a quiet little table, with two candles, and a Sunday paper propped up by the water-bottle! But he betrayed no impatience; he sat and looked and meditated.
However, when dinner was over and the ladies had left the