Lady Hester Trenoweth did not love Arthur Dalziel, but she loved Arthur Dalziel's ward, a young violinist who had begun to create quite a _furore_ in the fashionable world. In fact, Giovanni had become the rage, and though some said it was preposterous that a young man in his position should adopt music as a profession, they were nasty, old-fashioned creatures who knew nothing of the nobility of a life lived for the sake of art. That is quite a modern notion, by the way, so these ancient gossips must be pardoned. They did not know of Lady Hester's appalling preference, or their venom would have been seventy times more virulent. They did not know of Lady Hester's preference, and consequently they permitted themselves to talk freely in Giovanni's hearing of the projected match between her and his guardian, dwelling on Dalziel's well-known attachment and the barrier that his lack of a title had placed upon the union. Giovanni heard, turned slightly pale, and tuned his instrument for the next number on the programme. A string broke with a harsh snap. He had overstrained it. "Never mind," he said, "_it_ can be easily replaced." No one observed the emphasis on the _it_. Perhaps excitement caused the accentuation of the monosyllable. In another part of the room Arthur Dalziel, slightly older-looking, but handsomer, stood talking with Lord Trenoweth. "The boy plays marvellously," said the old peer; "he's a credit to you, Dalziel." "He'll make his bread by it, easily, if need be," returned Dalziel. "You have not decided, then, whether he's to come right out as a professional or not?" "Not quite; but it's more than likely he will." "Most providential he has the gift. He'd have been a sad burden to you otherwise. You picked him up most romantically, I remember----" "Telegram for Mr. Dalziel," said a waiter. Arthur glanced at it hastily and handed it to Lord Trenoweth. The old lord read it carefully. Then he shook hands warmly with his companion, saying, in an undertone: "She's yours, my lord; she's yours." Thereupon Dalziel quietly withdrew, and Society heard from Lord Trenoweth that Lord Alison was dead. Society smiled and awaited further developments, feeling quite certain what these would be, and, for once in a way, grievously miscalculating. Giovanni would be twenty-one the next day, the day on which Dalziel had determined that justice should be done: but that night Giovanni and he each attended a funeral. Neither funeral was Lord Alison's. Dalziel interred, dry-eyed, an old, good resolution; Giovanni buried, with one or two bitter tears, his young heart's first love. "I owe him everything I have," said the young man: "it is little that I should sacrifice something for his sake. Doubtless she cares nothing for me, the humble artist. I shall try to be happy in my benefactor's happiness."