The hansom was rolling through Hyde Park, and the sunshiny hour was eleven in June. Nina looked forth on the gay and brilliant scene: rhododendrons, duchesses, horses, dandies--the incomparable wealth and splendour of the capital. She took a long breath, and began to be happy for the rest of her life. She felt that, despite her plain frock, she was in this picture. Her father had told her that his income was rising on a hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, and he would thank her to spend it. Her father had told her, when she had confessed the scene with Mr. Reuben and what led to it, that she had grit, and that the mistake was excusable, and that a girl as pretty as she was didn't want to be as fly as Mr. Reuben had said. Her father had told her that he was proud of her, and he had not been so rude as to laugh at her blunder. She felt that she was about to enter upon the true and only vocation of a dainty little morsel--namely, to spend money earned by other people. She thought less homicidally now of the thirteen chorus-girls of the previous night. 'Say,' said her father, 'I sail this afternoon for New York, Nina.' 'They said you'd gone, at the hotel.' 'Only my baggage. The _Minnehaha_ clears at five. I guess I want you to come along too. On the voyage we'll get acquainted, and tell each other things.' 'Suppose I say I won't?' She spoke despotically, as the pampered darling should. 'Then I'll wait for the next boat. But it'll be awkward.' 'Then I'll come. But I've got no things.' He pushed up the trap-door. 'Driver, Bond Street. And get on to yourself, for goodness' sake! Hurry!' 'You told me not to hurry,' grumbled the cabby. 'And now I tell you to hustle. See?' 'Shall you want me to call myself Belmont?' Nina asked. 'I chose it because it was a fine ten-horse-power name twenty years ago,' said her father; and she murmured that she liked the name very much. As Lionel Belmont the Magnificent paid the cabman, and Nina walked across the pavement into one of the most famous repositories of expensive frippery in the world, she thrilled with the profoundest pleasure her tiny soul was capable of. Foolish, simple Nina had achieved the _nec plus ultra_ of her languorous dreams. * * * * * CLARICE OF THE AUTUMN CONCERTS I 'What did you say your name was?' asked Otto, the famous concert manager. 'Clara Toft.' 'That won't do,' he said roughly. 'My real proper name is Clarice,' she added, blushing. 'But----' 'That's better, that's better.' His large, dark face smiled carelessly. 'Clarice--and stick an "e" on to Toft--Clarice Tofte. Looks like either French or German then. I'll send you the date. It'll be the second week in September. And you can come round to the theatre and try the piano--Bechstein.' 'And what do you think I had better play, Mr. Otto?'