The audience, by the end of the third verse, were completely carried away. Something in the Toreador song stirred them. And if the general audience were thus touched, what of an impressionable girl? Something in the voice and the air seemed to call forth a sudden joy in the heart of Mary Foley--a joy, an ecstasy, that thrilled her. “Olé con, olé ola!” rang in her ears for months! After the bull-fighter’s song burst a wild hurricane of applause. Mrs. Doran trembled for the poor old cracked ceiling. And then with “God Save the Queen” the concert came to an end. People began to talk, to criticise, to collect wraps, and to wonder, “what sort of refreshments would be forthcoming?” The light supper in the dining-room was excellent, as far as it went--hot soup, sandwiches, tea, coffee, claret-cup, jelly, cakes. In the servants’ hall were buns, bread and jam, tea, roasted potatoes, and cold corned beef. “A great spread entirely,” agreed the company. Barky and Ulick looked in, in order to see how the guests were looked after, Barky from curiosity and a profound sense of his own importance, Ulick carried there by an overwhelming desire to speak to Mary Foley. They found an immense crush, and a merry, noisy, hungry crew. People were standing, sitting, eating, drinking, and enjoying themselves just anyhow. At last he discovered Mary in a corner, hemmed in by a circle of admirers, which included Patsie Maguire. She seemed to stand out from her entourage in the most extraordinary way. Certainly Mary had a wonderful personality, and an intangible quality of refinement and piquancy. As her circle suddenly fell back, in order to make room for Mr. Ulick, she coloured vividly. “Well, Mary, I congratulate you,” he said. “You did splendidly.” “I--I,” she stammered, “ah, sure it was nothing at all; but oh, sir”--and her eyes shone--“your song, although I did not know the language, it gave me a sort of wild feeling, a queer longing: I don’t believe I’ll ever get it out of my head”--here she caught Katty’s eye, and added hastily, “humbly begging your honour’s pardon for speaking so free.” “Not at all,” he rejoined. “I’m only too flattered. I picked up some Spanish songs at Gib--Spanish music has a charm of its own, half Arab, half I don’t know what. Don’t you think the concert was a great success?” “Yes, sir, I do, indeed. I wish we had one once a week.” “Ah!” he rejoined, “you’d soon get tired of it: the second of a thing is never the same as the first.” “I don’t think I could give in to that, sir,” and she smiled. “What about second thoughts?” He was about to retort, “What about first love?” but prudently refrained, and said, “I suppose this is the first function of the sort you have ever been to?” “Yes, sir, and I’m afraid it will be the last.” “No fear of that,” he answered gaily.