Honoria rose from her desk, awaiting the summons of the schoolroom-maid. She had not long to wait. The young woman appeared at the door in a few moments, and Miss Milford was requested to go to the drawing-room. She went, and found Sir Oswald Eversleigh awaiting her alone. It was the first time that she had ever known Miss Beaumont to be absent from the reception-room on the visit of the baronet. He rose to receive her, and took the hand which she extended towards him. "I am alone, you see, Honoria," he said; "I told Miss Beaumont that I had something of a serious nature to say to you, and she left me to receive you alone." "Something of a serious nature," repeated the girl, looking at her benefactor with surprise. "Oh, I think I can guess what you are going to say," she added, after a moment's hesitation; "my musical education is now sufficiently advanced for me to take some new step in the pathway which you wish me to tread." "No, Honoria, you are mistaken," answered the baronet, gravely; "so far from wishing to hasten your musical education, I am about to entreat you to abandon all thought of a professional career." "To abandon all thought of a professional career! You would ask me this, Sir Oswald--_you_ who have so often told me that all my hopes for the future depended on my cultivation of the art I love?" "You love your art very much then, Honoria?" "More than I love life itself." "And it would grieve you much, no doubt, to resign all idea of a public career--to abandon your dream of becoming a public singer?" There was a pause, and then the girl answered, in a dreamy tone-- "I don't know. I have never thought of the public. I have never imagined the hour in which I should stand before a great crowd, as I have stood in the cruel streets, amongst all the noise and confusion, singing to people who cared so little to hear me. I have never thought of that--I love music for its own sake, and feel as much pleasure when I sing alone in my own room, as I could feel in the grandest opera-house that ever was built." "And the applause, the admiration, the worship, which your beauty, as well as your voice, would win--does the idea of resigning such intoxicating incense give you no pain, Honoria?" The girl shook her head sadly. "You forget what I was when you rescued me from the pitiless stones of the market-place, or you would scarcely ask me such a question. I have confronted the public--not the brilliant throng of the opera-house, but the squalid crowd which gathers before the door of a gin-shop, to listen to a vagrant ballad-singer. I have sung at races, where the rich and the high-born were congregated, and have received their admiration. I know what it is worth, Sir Oswald. The same benefactor who throws a handful of half-pence, offers an insult with his donation." Sir Oswald contemplated his _protégée_ in silent admiration, and it was some moments before he continued the conversation.