"You will find us very quiet here," observed Madame Alpenny in excellent English, and smiling with very white teeth at the new-comer's resplendent appearance; "it will be dull in these parts for a young gentleman." "Oh, I can make myself at home anywhere, Madame," replied Spruce, accepting a cup of very weak tea from Mrs. Tesk. "My visit here is only to collect material for a novel." "I read the stories of my countryman, Maurus Jokai," said Madame with a nod. "You write like him. Is it not so?" "By no means. I know nothing of Maurus Jokai." "Gaszynski! Morzycka! Zmorski! Mukulitch! Riedl! Vehse?" the foreign lady ran off these difficult names of Polish, Russian and Hungarian authors still smiling; "you know them. Eh? What?" "Never heard of them Madame. They sound like names out of the Book of Numbers to me. I am a very ignorant person, as you will find." "Ah, say not so, Mr. Spruce. You like amusement perhaps. The dance, the cricket, the five o'clock tea? Tell me." "All those things are more in my line. I hear from Mrs. Tesk that your daughter dances?" "Ah, yes. Zara?" "I am at the Bijou Music-hall just now in a Fire-dance," said the girl in an indifferent manner, for Spruce had not made the same impression on her as he had on her mother; "and Mr. Bracken here is in the orchestra." "Second-violin," growled Bracken, who was paying great attention to the thin bread and butter. "Hard work and bad pay"--he stole a glance at the dancer--"but I have my compensations." The look was sufficient to make Spruce understand that the young man was in love with Zara, just as the frown of Madame Alpenny, who had intercepted the look, showed him the mother's disapproval. The dancer was a tall and rather gaunt girl, handsome in a bold gipsy flamboyant way, with flashing dark eyes and a somewhat defiant manner, while the violinist was roughly good-looking, and seemed to pay very little attention to his dress. Evidently a romance was in progress here, and Spruce promised himself some amusement in watching the efforts--which he was sure were being made--of the mother to keep the lovers apart. "You see," said Mrs. Tesk complacently, "we have many talents assembled here, Mr. Spruce. Mademoiselle Zara indulges in the light fantastic toe; Mr. Bracken is devoted to the noble art of music, and Madame Alpenny is conversant with the literature of foreign nations, which is natural considering her nationality. In my own person, I represent the English element of letters, and if you enjoy heart to heart talks, I am prepared to discuss poetry with you from Dan Chaucer down to Robert Browning." "Thanks very much," said the new guest hastily and scarcely relishing the prospect; "but my doctor won't let me read much, as my health is not very good. But I daresay," he added, glancing round at the queer set he found himself amongst, "we can get up a game of bridge occasionally."