“Jest this, that one of those theatrical fellows as buys singing-people, and gets 'em taught,--it's all piping-bullfinch work with 'em,--has been and taken her away; most probably cheap, too, for Trover said she was n't nowise a rare article; she had a will of her own, and was as likely to say 'I won't,' as 'I will.'” “Good heavens! And are things like this suffered,--are they endured in the age we live in?” “Yes, sir. You've got all your British sympathies very full about negroes and 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' you 're wonderful strong about slavery and our tyrants down South, and you 've something like fifty thousand born ladies, called governesses, treated worse than housemaids, and some ten thousand others condemned to what I won't speak of, that they may amuse you in your theatres. I can tell you, sir, that the Legrees that walk St. James's Street and Piccadilly are jest as black-hearted as the fellows in Georgia or Alabama, though they carry gold-headed walking- sticks instead of cow-hides.” “But sold her!” reiterated Layton. “Do you mean to say that Clara has been given over to one of these people to prepare her for the stage?” “Yes, sir; he says his name's Stocmar,--a real gentleman, he calls him, with a house at Brompton, and a small yacht at Cowes. They 've rather good notions about enjoying themselves, these theatre fellows. They get a very good footing in West End life, too, by supplying countesses to the nobility.” “No, no!” cried Layton, angrily; “you carry your prejudices against birth and class beyond reason and justice too.” “Well, I suspect not, sir,” said Quackinboss, slowly. “Not to say that I was n't revilin', but rather a-praisin' 'em, for the supply of so much beauty to the best face-market in all Europe. If I were to say what's the finest prerogatives of one of your lords, I know which I 'd name, sir, and it would n't be wearin' a blue ribbon, and sittin' on a carved oak bench in what you call the Upper House of Parliament.” “But Clara--what of Clara?” cried Layton, impatiently.