hundreds of singers, and he is the one solitary bird among them of
that plumage. No, it is not jealousy."

"Then what is it?"

"I wish I knew. He asked me to go and dine with him this afternoon.
You know he dines at four o'clock. Of course, I went. What do you
think he wanted me to do? He actually suggested that I should change
the bill to-night! That showed me that something really was the
matter, because he's the most modest and courteous man I have ever
known, and he has a horror of disappointing the public. I asked him if
he was hoarse. No. I asked him if he felt ill. No. But he was
extremely depressed.

"'I'm quite well,' he said, 'and yet--' Then he stopped. 'And yet
what?' It seemed as if I couldn't drag it out of him. Then all of a
sudden he told me. 'My dear Smart,' he said, 'there is a misfortune
coming to me. I feel it.' That's just what he said--'There's a
misfortune coming to me. I feel it.' He's superstitious. They all are.
Naturally, I set to work to soothe him. I did what I could. I talked
about his liver in the usual way. But it had less than the usual
effect. However, I persuaded him not to force me to change the bill."

Mrs. Sullivan struck into the conversation.

"He isn't in love with Rosa, is he?" she demanded brusquely.

"In love with Rosa? Of course he isn't, my pet!" said Sullivan.

The wife glared at her husband as if angry, and Sullivan made a comic