She had, as I said, been discussing the work. She gave orders for embroidered handkerchiefs, and was very particular about the flowers to be worked upon them; and she gave orders for a muslin apron, to be surrounded with vandykes, and to have vandyked pockets,--for a toilet cushion and veil; and then she said: "Will you have the goodness to send them to the Priory when they are finished? My friends live there, and will send them on to me. I wish to pay for them now,"--and she laid a purse upon the table. "I think there is too much gold here, ma'am," said Clara, innocently. "I know precisely the cost of work, Miss Benette: such work as yours is, besides, priceless. Recollect, you find my materials. That is sufficient, if you please." And to my astonishment, and rather dread, she turned full upon me as I was standing at the table. "You wish to know what Milans-André is like, Master Charles Auchester,--for that is your name, I find. Well, thus much: he is not like you, and he is not like Santonio, nor like the unknown conductor, nor like your favorite, Mr. Davy. He is narrow at the shoulders, with long arms, small white hands, and a handsome face,--rather too large for his body. He plays wonderfully, and fills a large theatre with one pianoforte. He is very amiable, but not kind; and very famous, but not beloved." "What an extraordinary description!" I thought; and I involuntarily added: "I thought he was your master." She seemed touched, and answered generously: "I am afraid you think me ungrateful, but I owe nothing to him. Ah! you owe far more to your master, Mr. Davy." I was pleased, and replied, "Oh! I know that; but I should like to hear Milans-André play." "You will be sure to hear him. He will, ere long, become common, and play everywhere. But if I had a piano here, I could show you exactly how he plays, and could play you a piece of his music." I thought it certainly a strange mistake in punctilio for Miss Lawrence to refer to the want of a piano in that room; but I little knew her. She paused, too, as she said it, and looked at Clara. Clara did not blush, nor did her sweet face change. "I am very sorry that I have no piano; I am to have one some day when I grow rich. But Mr. Davy is kind enough to teach me at his house, and I sing to his piano there. I wish I had one, though, that you might play, Miss Lawrence." The fire-flies all at once sparkled, almost dazzled, from the eyes of Miss Lawrence: a sudden glow, which was less color than light, beamed all over her face. I could tell she was enchanted about something or other,--at least she looked so. "Oh! Miss Benette," she answered, in a genial tone, "you are very, very rich with such a voice as yours, and such power to make it perfect as you possess." Clara smiled. "Thank you for saying so." Miss Lawrence had risen to go, yet she still detained herself, as having something left to do or say.