He was a singer of genius, too; with a splendid voice and a sound method—on the whole. It was before the days of the Wagner autocracy, and perhaps his tremolo passed unchallenged as it could not now; but he was a great artist. He knew his business as well as his advance–agent knew his. The Rémy Concerts were a splendid success. Reserved seats, $5. For the Series of Six, $25. * * * * * On the following Monday, Esther Van Guilder returned her friend’s call, in response to an urgent invitation, despatched by mail. Louise Latimer’s great bare room was incapable of transmutation into a cosy nest of a boudoir. There was too much of its heavy raw silk furniture—too much of its vast, sarcophagus–like bed—too much of its upholsterer’s elegance, regardless of cost—and taste. An enlargement from an ambrotype of the original Latimer, as he arrived in New York from New Hampshire, and a photograph of a “child subject” by Millais, were all her works of art. It was not to be doubted that they had climbed upstairs from a front parlor of an earlier stage of social development. The farm–house was six generations behind Esther; two behind Louise. Esther found her friend in a state of almost feverish excitement. Her eyes shone; the color burned high on her clear cheeks. “You never would guess what I’ve done, dear!” she began, as soon as they were alone in the big room. “I’m going to see _him_—to speak to him—_Esther_!” Her voice was solemnly hushed, “to _serve_ him!” “Oh, Louise! what _do_ you mean?” “To serve him—with my own hands! To—to—help him on with his coat—I don’t know—to do something that a servant does—any thing, so that I can say that once, once only, just for an hour, I have been near him, been of use to him, served him in one little thing, as loyally as he serves OUR ART.” [Illustration] Music was THEIR art, and no capitals could tell how much it was theirs or how much of an art it was. “Louise,” demanded Esther, with a frightened look, “are you crazy?” “No. Read this!” She handed the other girl a clipping from the advertising columns of a newspaper. [Illustration: CHAMBERMAID AND WAITRESS.—WANTED, A NEAT and willing girl, for light work. Apply to Mme. Rémy, The Midlothian, .... Broadway.] “I saw it just by accident, Saturday, after I left you. Papa had left his paper in the coupé. I was going up to my First Aid to the Injured Class—it’s at four o’clock now, you know. I made up my mind right off—it came to me like an inspiration. I just waited until it came to the place where they showed how to tie up arteries, and then I slipped out. Lots of the girls slip out in the horrid parts, you know. And then, instead of waiting in the ante–room, I put on my wrap, and pulled the hood over my head and ran off to the Midlothian—it’s just around the corner, you know. And I saw his wife.” “What was she like?” queried Esther, eagerly.