A shifting, rustling sound, as of somebody dressing, which had been audible for some minutes through the folding doors, now ceased, and a handsome young woman entered. She had thick black hair, fine dark eyes, an oval face, a clear olive complexion, and an elastic figure. She was incompletely attired in a petticoat that did not hide her ankles, and stays of bright red silk with white laces and seams. Quite unconcerned at the presence of the man, she poured out a cup of tea; carried it to the mantelpiece; and began to arrange her hair before the glass. He, without looking round, completed the arrangement of his tie, looked at it earnestly for a moment, and said, “Have you got a pin about you?” “There is one in the pincushion on my table,” she said; “but I think it’s a black one. I dont know where the deuce all the pins go to.” Then, casting off the subject, she whistled a long and florid cadenza, and added, by way of instrumental interlude, a remarkably close imitation of a violoncello. Meanwhile the man went into her room for the pin. On his return she suddenly became curious, and said, “Where are you going to-night, if one may ask?” “I am going out.” She looked at him for a moment, and turned contemptuously to the mirror, saying, “Thank you. Sorry to be inquisitive.” “I am going to sing for the Countess of Carbury at a concert at Wandsworth.” “Sing! You! The Countess of Barbury! Does she live at Wandsworth?” “No. She lives in Park Lane.” “Oh! I beg her pardon.” The man made no comment on this; and she, after looking doubtfully at him to assure herself that he was in earnest, continued, “How does the Countess of Whatshername come to know _you_, pray?” “Why not?” A long pause ensued. Then she said: “Stuff!”, but without conviction. Her exclamation had no apparent effect on him until he had buttoned his waistcoat and arranged his watch-chain. Then he glanced at a sheet of pink paper which lay on the mantelpiece. She snatched it at once; opened it; stared incredulously at it; and said, “Pink paper, and scalloped edges! How filthily vulgar! I thought she was not much of a Countess! Ahem! ‘Music for the People. Parnassus Society. A concert will be given at the Town Hall, Wandsworth, on Tuesday, the 25th April, by the Countess of Carbury, assisted by the following ladies and gentlemen. Miss Elinor McQuinch’—what a name! ‘Miss Marian Lind’—who’s Miss Marian Lind?” “How should I know?”