A certain young Englishwoman, married to one Count Eugen of Rothenfels, was the first to sing. The fair soprano was filling the room with a flood of melody, when the countess came up to the place where Sara Ford was seated, somewhat apart, with Jerome Wellfield leaning over the back of her chair, his eyes dreamily fixed on the face of the singer. ‘Mr. Wellfield,’ said his pretty little hostess, ‘I know I am asking a very great favour, and that you hate it; but _won’t_ you sing to-night, to please me?’ ‘Oh, will you?’ said Sara, involuntarily. She had heard wonderful rumours of Wellfield’s voice, and the wish to hear him was strong. He bowed towards the countess. ‘To please you, _gnädige Frau_,’ he said, with a slight smile, ‘is a privilege, and I shall at once obey your order when I receive it.’ ‘That is good! _recht freundlich!_’ exclaimed the lady, radiant with delight; for Wellfield’s reserve was generally as great as his talent was said to be, and she had had little hope of his consenting to sing before that large audience of perfect strangers. She confided her success to the ear of one of her cousins, Helene von Lehnberg, who said, with a sneer: ‘Another of your English amateurs, Carla? For my part, I don’t think much of a talent that is so haughty and reserved as almost to require one to go on one’s knees to it.’ ‘Ah, my dear Helene! I doat upon proud, haughty people, when they are just the reverse to me, which is the case with Mr. Wellfield,’ rejoined Frau von Trockenau, not without malice. ‘I am glad you are going to sing,’ said Sara to Jerome, when they were alone again. ‘I am naturally of an obliging disposition, and could not refuse the Frau Gräfin.’ ‘She is delighted,’ said Sara, with a smile. ‘When I have done,’ said Wellfield, in a low tone, ‘I shall come and ask if you were delighted—may I?’ ‘May you?’ she stammered. ‘I mean, will you answer me if I do come?’ ‘Do you expect me to tell you that I am not delighted?’ ‘I expect nothing, therefore I am blessed; but I desire very much that you should tell me the truth.’ ‘I will do so if you wish it.’ ‘Thank you.... Yes, Frau Gräfin, I see and I obey,’ he added, as the countess was perceived making her way to him. There was some little stir and sensation when Wellfield advanced to the piano. ‘An Englishman, an amateur—_nun, wir werden ’mal sehen!_’ said one or two sceptics, with a supercilious curl of the lip. ‘What does he sing? English songs—“The Last Rose of Summer”?’ asked one young lady, sarcastically. ‘No, no!’ whispered a dapper little lieutenant, who was paying her devoted attention; ‘he will sing a comic song, “What Jolly Dogs we are!” An Englishman told me last week that they sang nothing else in England now. He was at a party where nineteen of the company had brought their music——’ ‘_Gott!_ Herr Lieutenant, how horrible!’ tittered the young lady.