"Imagine Emma trotting round with a pauper baby under her arm instead of her cherished Toto," said Steve, with an ecstatic twirl on the stool.
"Did she seem to like your advice, Monsieur Malapropos?" asked Rose, wishing she had been there.
"No, she gave a little shriek, and said, 'Good gracious, Mr. Campbell, how droll you are! Take me to mamma, please,' which I did with a thankful heart. Catch me setting her pug's leg again," ended Mac, with a grim shake of the head.
"Never mind. You were unfortunate in your listener that time. Don't think all girls are so foolish. I can show you a dozen sensible ones, who would discuss dress reform and charity with you, and enjoy Greek tragedy if you did the chorus for them as you did for me," said Rose, consolingly; for Steve would only jeer.
"Give me a list of them, please; and I'll cultivate their acquaintance. A fellow must have some reward for making a teetotum of himself."
"I will with pleasure; and if you dance well they will make it very pleasant for you, and you'll enjoy parties in spite of yourself."
"I cannot be a 'glass of fashion and a mould of form' like Dandy here, but I'll do my best: only, if I had my choice, I'd much rather go round the streets with an organ and a monkey," answered Mac, despondently.
"Thank you kindly for the compliment," and Rose made him a low courtesy, while Steve cried,--
"Now you _have_ done it!" in a tone of reproach which reminded the culprit, all too late, that he was Rose's chosen escort.
"By the gods, so I have!" and, casting away the newspaper with a gesture of comic despair, Mac strode from the room, chanting tragically the words of Cassandra,--
"'Woe! woe! O Earth! O Apollo! I will dare to die; I will accost the gates of Hades, and make my prayer that I may receive a mortal blow!'"
While Rose was making discoveries and having experiences, Phebe was doing the same in a quieter way: but, though they usually compared notes during the bedtime _tête-à-tête_ which always ended their day, certain topics were never mentioned; so each had a little world of her own into which even the eye of friendship did not peep.
Rose's life just now was the gayest, but Phebe's the happiest. Both went out a good deal; for the beautiful voice was welcomed everywhere, and many were ready to patronize the singer who would have been slow to recognize the woman. Phebe knew this, and made no attempt to assert herself; content to know that those whose regard she valued felt her worth, and hopeful of a time when she could gracefully take the place she was meant to fill.