"Oh, no, Leo," Nina said, with mock sympathy, "you can listen to Miss Burgoyne as she talks to you from behind her fan." "Those two ladies I told you of," he continued, "who are coming on Saturday night--I wonder what they will think of all that low-comedy stuff. I begin to wish I hadn't asked them to come behind, but I thought it might be a sort of inducement. Miss Cunyngham was very kind to me when I was in the Highlands, and this was all I could think of; but I don't think she has much of the frivolous curiosity of her sisters-in-law; and I am not sure that her mother and she would even care much for the honor of having tea in Miss Burgoyne's room. No, I wish I hadn't asked them." "Do you value their opinion so highly, then, Leo?" Nina asked, gently. "Oh, yes," he said, with some hesitation--"that is, I shouldn't like them to form any unfavorable impression--to go away with any scornful feeling towards comic opera, and towards the people engaged in it; I should like them to think well of the piece. I suppose I couldn't bribe Collier to leave out the half of his gag, or the whole of it, for that particular night. Did you see what one of the papers said about the 400th performance?--that the fate of "The Squire's Daughter" had for some time been doubtful, but that it had been saved by the increased prominence given to the part played by Mr. Fred Collier!--a compliment to the public taste!--the piece saved by lugging in a lot of music-hall buffoonery!" "But, Leo," Nina said, "your friends who are coming on Saturday night will not think you responsible for all that." "People are apt to judge of you by your associates, Nina," he said, absently; he was clearly looking forward to this visit with some compunction, not to say alarm. Then he went to Miss Burgoyne. Miss Burgoyne had forgiven him for having introduced Percival Miles to the Richmond dinner-party; indeed, she was generally as ready to forgive as she was quick to take offence. "I wish you would do me a very great favor," he said. "What is it?" asked Grace Mainwaring, who was standing in front of the tall mirror, adjusting the shining stars and crescents that adorned her powdered hair. "I suppose you could wear a little nosegay with that dress," he said, "of natural flowers, done up with a bit of white satin ribbon, perhaps, and a silver tube and cord, or something of that kind?" "Flowers?" she repeated. "Oh, yes, I could wear them--if any one were polite enough to give me them."