“They have the same name, and they bear a strong personal resemblance to each other, modified by the difference of age and temperament; but they never play the same parts. How could you imagine, my dear, that there could be any arts of the toilet, or effect of the stage, that could transfigure that coarse old creature into the hero of an opera?” “I don’t know. I thought toilet arts, and stage effects, were almost miraculous. But what astounds me is the cunning of the gay old deceiver, my pap! Now, I wonder if he didn’t see my infatuation from the beginning! I wonder if he didn’t show me the old one, and let me deceive myself, on purpose?” “Of course, he did,” opined Alberta. “But how came you to know anything about them—so much about them, I may say, Britty, dear?” Elfie inquired. “I said I had a sequel to your story; but I cannot tell it now,” replied Britomarte, very gravely. Then, after a thoughtful pause, she added: “I think it wrong—oh! very wrong—in parents and guardians to take young, inexperienced, impressible girls to such places. If they love music, let them have as many concerts as they please, but no operas, and no plays—except, perhaps, a few of Shakespeare’s best historical plays.” “How old are you, Britomarte?” suddenly inquired Alberta. Britomarte paused as though she could scarcely answer that question at a moment’s warning; and then she answered: “I am eighteen. Why?” “You talk as if you were eighty—that’s all.” “I have had enough to age me,” said Britomarte, putting Erminie’s caressing arms from her neck, and rising, and walking away, as if to conceal, or overcome, some strong and deep emotion. “Britomarte speaks bitterly,” said Elfie, in amazement. “She has good reason to do so,” replied Alba, meaningly. “What reason?” inquired Elfie and Erminie, in a breath. “Law! don’t you know? Have you never heard?” “No.” “Then I don’t know whether I ought to tell it. It seems unfair to do so. It seems, indeed, like speaking ill of her family behind her back. She might not like it,” said Alberta, hesitating. “Then, don’t do it,” urged Erminie. “Do!” insisted Elfie. “Well, you see, I never knew a word of it myself until last Easter holidays, when I was home on a visit, and heard it by the merest accident. For you know she never mentions a word about her family.” “No, never; except sometimes to allude to the maiden aunt who pays her school bills. But do tell me! Is it anything bad?” eagerly inquired Elfie. “Yes, very,” replied Alberta, with a shudder. “And to think you should have known the secret ever since last Easter and kept it from us!” exclaimed Elfie, with a reproachful look. “You see I kept it to myself for her sake,” explained Alberta, with an apologetic smile. “Keep it so still, Alberta,” earnestly urged Erminie. “If you have become possessed of any secret that you think Britomarte would not like to have divulged, it would be disloyalty to your friend to divulge it.”