'You have no idea what a dear child he is,' she said to Margaret, as

she sat herself down in her own chair again. 'He has been my passion

ever since he was born! My dear, you never saw such a beautiful baby as

he was! He was all pink and white, like a little sugar angel, and he

had dimples everywhere--everywhere, my dear!' she repeated with

suggestive emphasis.

'I don't doubt it,' said Margaret, biting her lips and looking at her

plate.

By this time the plovers' eggs had come for Lushington and he was glad

of anything to do with his hands.

'My mother can never believe that I am grown up,' he said, with much

more self-possession than Margaret had expected; and suddenly he raised

his eyes and looked steadily and quietly at her across the table.

It must have cost him something of an effort, for his colour came and

went quickly. Margaret knew what he was suffering and her respect for

him increased a hundredfold in those few minutes, because he did not

betray the least irritation in his tone or manner. His mother evidently

worshipped him, but her way of showing it was such as must be horribly

uncomfortable to a man of his retiring character and sensitive taste.

He might easily have been forgiven if he had shown that it hurt him, as

well it might. Whatever reason he and Madame Bonanni might have had for

changing his name, he was brave enough not to be falsely ashamed of

her, in the presence of the woman he loved.

'You see,' Margaret said, looking at him, but speaking to the prima

donna, 'Mr. Lushington has been stopping with us at Versailles for a

good while, but I did not tell him that I had been to see you, and he

never even said that he know you, though he often spoke of your

singing.' 'Did he?' asked Madame Bonanni with intense anxiety. 'What did he say?

Did he say that I was growing old and ought to give up the stage?' 'Mother!' exclaimed Lushington reproachfully.

'He never said anything of the kind!' cried Margaret, taking his part

with energy.

'Because he always says just what he thinks,' explained Madame Bonanni,

who seemed relieved. 'And the worst part of it is that he knows,' she

added, thoughtfully. 'I do not pretend to understand what he writes,

but I would take his opinion about music rather than any one's. You

wretched little boy!' she cried, turning on Lushington suddenly. 'How

you frightened me!' 'I frightened you? How?' 'I was sure that you had told everybody that I was growing old! How

could you? My darling child, how could you be so unkind? Oh, you have

no heart!' 'But he never said so!' cried Margaret vehemently and feeling as if she

were in a madhouse. 'He has told me again and again that you are still

the greatest lyric soprano living----' 'Angelo,' said Madame Bonanni, with perfect calm, 'change my plate.' Margaret glanced at Lushington, who seemed to think it all quite

natural. He was eating little bits of thin toast thoughtfully, and from

time to time he looked at his mother with a gentle expression. But he

did not meet Margaret's glance.




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