There could be no question of the success of Mrs. Esdaile's conversazione. From first to last everything went admirably. People stared through microscopes, and linked hands for electric shocks, and marvelled at the Gallapagos turtle, the os frontis of the Bos montis, and all the other curiosities which Mrs. Esdaile had taken such pains to collect. Groups formed and chatted round the various cases. The Dean of Birchespool listened with a protesting lip, while Professor Maunders held forth upon a square of triassic rock, with side-thrusts occasionally at the six days of orthodox creation; a knot of specialists disputed over a stuffed ornithorhynchus in a corner; while Mrs. Esdaile swept from group to group, introducing, congratulating, laughing, with the ready, graceful tact of a clever woman of the world. By the window sat the heavily-moustached Captain Beesly, with the daughter of the house, and they discussed a problem of their own, as old as the triassic rock, and perhaps as little understood. "But I must really go and help my mother to entertain, Captain Beesly," said Rose at last, with a little movement as if to rise. "Don't go, Rose. And don't call me Captain Beesly; call me Charles. Do, now!" "Well, then, Charles." [Illustration: "Call me Charles. Do now."] "How prettily it sounds from your lips! No, now, don't go. I can't bear to be away from you. I had heard of love, Rose; but how strange it seems that I, after spending my life amid all that is sparkling and gay, should only find out now, in this little provincial town, what love really is!" "You say so; but it is only a passing fancy." "No, indeed. I shall never leave you, Rose--never, unless you drive me away from your side. And you would not be so cruel--you would not break my heart?" He had very plaintive, blue eyes, and there was such a depth of sorrow in them as he spoke that Rose could have wept for sympathy. "I should be very sorry to cause you grief in any way," she said, in a faltering tone. "Then promise----" "No, no; we cannot speak of it just now, and they are collecting round the phonograph. Do come and listen to it. It is so funny. Have you ever heard one?" "Never." "It will amuse you immensely. And I am sure that you would never guess what it is going to talk about." "What then?" "Oh, I won't tell you. You shall hear. Let us have these chairs by the open door; it is so nice and cool." The company had formed an expectant circle round the instrument. There was a subdued hush as Rupert Esdaile made the connection, while his mother waved her white hand slowly from left to right to mark the cadence of the sonorous address which was to break upon their ears. "How about Lucy Araminta Pennyfeather?" cried a squeaky little voice. There was a rustle and a titter among the audience. Rupert glanced across at Captain Beesly. He saw a drooping jaw, two protruding eyes, and a face the colour of cheese. [Illustration: "WHO WAS IT WHO HID THE ACE?"]