gesture of despair with his hands.

"Is he?" Mrs. Sullivan persisted, waiting for Smart's reply.

"I never thought of that," said Sir Cyril simply. "No; I should say
not, decidedly not.... He may be, after all. I don't know. But if
he were, that oughtn't to depress him. Even Rosa ought to be flattered
by the admiration of a man like Alresca. Besides, so far as I know,
they've seen very little of each other. They're too expensive to sing
together often. There's only myself and Conried of New York who would
dream of putting them in the same bill. I should say they hadn't sung
together more than two or three times since the death of Lord
Clarenceux; so, even if he has been making love to her, she's scarcely
had time to refuse him--eh?"

"If he has been making love to Rosa," said Mrs. Sullivan slowly,
"whether she has refused him or not, it's a misfortune for him, that's
all."

"Oh, you women! you women!" Sullivan smiled. "How fond you are of each
other."

Mrs. Sullivan disdained to reply to her spouse.

"And, let me tell you," she added, "he has been making love to her."

The talk momentarily ceased, and in order to demonstrate that I was
not tongue-tied in the company of these celebrities, I ventured to
inquire what Lord Clarenceux, whose riches and eccentricities had
reached even the Scottish newspapers, had to do with the matter.