"Yes, you do, my dear, and what I wanted to say was, don't you talk so free. You've had one narrow escape of losing a good situation through looking weak on Italian lazy ronies, don't go and run another risk by hinting as a young lady of the highest aristocracy is giving her attention to such a thing as a black-bearded, plaster image selling man who grinds tunes in a box, because if you do you'll find yourself wrong." "Thank you, Mr Robbins," said Dolly, tartly. "I only know what I see, and I'm not afraid to speak my mind, whatever other people may be. I'm English, I am, and not French, and if I am from the country, as I said before, I'm not blind." Exit Miss Dolly Preen as Justine exclaimed once more, "Lil _bebe_," and became so sphinx-like that she appeared deep as a knowledge mine. "Well, such things have happened," said Mrs Downes, sighing. "Mrs Downes, don't make me blush for you," said the butler, sternly. "I'm ashamed to sit here and listen to such hints." "Ah, well, I'll say no more," said the cook, oracularly; "but I have a heart of my own, and I know what hearts is." "Trumps," exclaimed the buttons. "Henery! silence!" cried the butler sternly. "You go and see to the things in the pantry. Mrs Downes, as the oldest servant in her ladyship's establishment, I have a right to take the lead. Such remarks as these are not seemly." "I only want to say, Mr Robbins," cried the stout lady, with her heart doing its work well, "that if you check true love in one direction, out it comes in another. It will have its way. There, look at that." The demon of Portland Place was at the edge of the pavement turning the handle of his organ, and as a matter of fact, Maude Diphoos stepped slowly out of the French window in the drawing-room, and stood looking down at the Italian's swarthy, smiling face. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. LADY BARMOUTH PUTS DOWN HER FOOT. Lady Maude sat in her dressing-room once more with her back hair down, listening to the strains of Luigi's organ as it discoursed a delicious waltz, while Dolly Preen, who was rapidly developing a vicious-looking mouth, brushed away at the beautiful golden cascade, which rippled quite to the ground. The lady's head swerved softly to the rhythm of the music, and it proved infectious; for though Dolly knew little of dancing, the music was pleasant to her soul, and she swayed her head and brushed softly with an accentuated beat at the beginning of every bar. Just in the middle of the most sostenuto strain, and just as the ivory-backed brush was descending low, its long bristles dividing the golden threads, which crackled again in the warm air of that gloriously sunshiny day, there was a sharp tap at the dressing-room, and her ladyship entered. "Ah, just in time," she exclaimed, raising her gold-rimmed eye-glass. "I wanted to see your hair, Maude." "My hair, mamma?" "Yes, child. Let me see; you went to Monsieur Launay's yesterday?" "Yes, mamma."