The servant shrugged his shoulders in a deprecatory way, and his smile

became rather compassionate.

'One young person to breakfast,' he said, 'a musician'.

'Oh, very well.' Lushington's brow cleared.

The servant left him and went in again. A screen was so placed as to

mask the interior of the dining-room when the door was open. Within,

Madame Bonanni and Margaret were seated at table. Encouraged by

circumstances the prima donna had on this occasion tied her napkin

round her neck as soon as she had sat down; the inevitable plovers'

eggs had already been demolished, and she was at work on a creamy purée

soup of the most exquisite pale green colour. It was clear that she had

not lost a moment in getting to her meal after the men had left.

Margaret was eating too, but though there was fresh colour in her

cheeks her eyes had a startled look each time she looked up, as if

something very unusual had happened.

The servant whispered something in Madame Bonanni's ear. She seemed to

hesitate a moment, and glanced at Margaret before making up her mind.

Then she nodded to the man without saying a word, and went on eating

her soup.

A few seconds later Lushington entered. Margaret faced the door and

their eyes met. Madame Bonanni dropped her spoon into her plate with a

clang and uttered a scream of delight, as if she had not known

perfectly well that Lushington was coming.

'What luck!' she cried. 'Little Miss Donne, this is my son!' Margaret's jaw dropped in sheer amazement.

'Your son? Mr. Lushington is your son?' 'Yes. Ah, my child!' she cried, springing up and kissing Lushington on

both cheeks with resounding affection. 'What a joy it is to see you!' Lushington was rather pale as he laid his hand quietly on Madame

Bonanni's.

'I have the pleasure of knowing Miss Donne already, mother,' he said

steadily, 'but she did not know that I was your son. She is a little

surprised.' 'Yes,' answered Margaret, faintly, 'a little.' 'Ah, you know each other?' Madame Bonanni seemed delighted. 'So much

the better! Miss Donne will keep our little secret, I am sure. Besides

she has another name, too. She is Señorita Margarita da Cordova from

to-day. Sit down, my darling child! You are starving! I know you are

starving! Angelo!' she screamed at the smiling servant, 'why do you

stand there staring like a stuffed codfish? Bring more plovers' eggs!' Angelo smiled as sweetly as ever and disappeared for an instant. Madame

Bonanni took Lushington by the shoulders, as if he had been a little

boy, made him sit down in the vacant place beside her, unfolded the

napkin herself, spread it upon his knees, patted both his cheeks and

kissed the top of his head, precisely as she had done when he was six

years old. Margaret looked on in dumb surprise, and poor Lushington

turned red to the roots of his hair.




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