Rachel O\'Mahony found her position to be very embarrassing. She had thought it out to the best of her ability, and had told herself that it would be better for her not to acquaint her father with all the circumstances. Had he been told the nature of the offer made to her by Madame Socani, he would at once, she thought, have taken her away from the theatre. She would have to abandon the theatre, at which she was earning her money. This would have been very bad. There would have been some lawsuit with Mahomet Moss, as to which she could not have defended herself by putting Madame Socani into the witness-box. There had been no third person present, and any possible amount of lying would have been very easy to Madame Socani. Rachel was quick enough, and could see at a moment all that lying could do against her. "But he tried to kiss me," she would have had to say. Then she could see how, with a shrug of his shoulders, her enemy would have ruined her. From such a contest a man like Moss comes forth without even a scratch that can injure him. But Rachel felt that she would have been utterly annihilated. She must tell someone, but that someone must be he whom she intended to marry.

And she, too, had not been quite prudent in all respects since she had come to London. It had been whispered to her that a singer of such pretensions should be brought to the theatre and carried home in her private brougham. Therefore, she had spent more money than was compatible with the assistance given to her father, and was something in debt. It was indispensable to her that she should go on with her engagement.

But she told her father that it was absolutely necessary that he should go with her to the theatre every night that she sang. It was but three nights a week, and the hours of her work were only from eight till ten. He had, however, unfortunately made another engagement for himself. There was a debating society, dramatic in its manner of carrying on its business, at which three or four Irish Home-Rulers were accustomed to argue among themselves, before a mixed audience of Englishmen and Irishmen, as to the futility of English government. Here Mr. O\'Mahony was popular among the debaters, and was paid for his services. Not many knew that the eloquent Irishman was the father of the singer who, in truth, was achieving for herself a grand reputation. But such was the case. A stop had been put upon his lecturings at Galway; but no policeman in London seemed to be aware that the Galway incendiary and the London debater were one and the same person. So there came to him an opening for picking up a few pounds towards their joint expenses.

"But why should you want me now, more than for the last fortnight?" he said, contending for the use of his own time.

"Mr. Moss is disagreeable."

"Has he done anything new?" he asked.

"He is always doing things new—that is more beastly—one day than the day before."

"He doesn\'t come and sing with you now at your own rooms."

"No; I have got through that, thank Heaven! To tell the truth, father, I am not in the least afraid of Mr. Moss. Before he should touch me you may be sure that he would have the worst of it."

"Of course I will do what you want," said her father; "but only if it be not necessary—"

"It is necessary. Of course, I do not wish to be dragged up to the police-court for sticking Mr. Moss in the abdomen. That\'s what it would come to if we were left together."

"Do you mean to say that you require my presence to prevent anything so disagreeable as that?"

"If they know, or if he knows that you\'re in the house, there will be nothing of the kind. Can\'t you arrange your debates for the other nights?"

So it was, in fact, settled. Everybody about the theatre seemed to be aware that something was wrong. Mr. O\'Mahony had not come back to be constantly on the watch, like a Newfoundland dog, without an object. To himself it was an intolerable nuisance. He suspected his daughter not at all. He was so far from suspecting her that he imagined her to be safe, though half-a-dozen Mosses should surround her. He could only stand idle behind the scenes, or sit in her dressing-room and yawn. But still he did it, and asked no further questions.

Then while all this was going on, the polite old gentleman from Covent Garden had called at her lodgings in Cecil Street, and had found both her and her father at home.

"Oh, M. Le Gros," she had said, "I am so glad that you should meet my father here."

Then there was a multiplicity of bowing, and M. Le Gros had declared that he had never had so much honour done him as in being introduced to him who was about to become the father of the undoubted prima donna of the day. At all which Mr. O\'Mahony made many bows, and Rachel laughed very heartily; but in the end an engagement was proposed and thankfully accepted, which was to commence in the next October. It did not take two minutes in the making. It was an engagement only for a couple of months; but, as M. Le Gros observed, such an engagement would undoubtedly lead to one for all time. If Covent Garden could only secure the permanent aid of Mademoiselle O\'Mahony, Covent Garden\'s fortune would be as good as made. M. Le Gros had quite felt the dishonesty of even suggesting a longer engagement to mademoiselle. The rate of payment would be very much higher, ve-ry, ve-ry, ve-ry much higher when mademoiselle\'s voice should have once been heard on the boards of a true operatic theatre. M. Le Gros had done himself the honour of being present on one or two occasions at the Charing Cross little playhouse. He did believe himself to have some small critical judgment in musical matters. He thought he might venture—he really did think that he might venture—to bespeak a brilliant career for mademoiselle. Then, with a great many more bowings and scrapings, M. Le Gros, having done his business, took his leave.

"I like him better than Mahomet M.," said Rachel to her father.

"They\'re both very civil," said Mr. O\'Mahony.

"One has all the courtesy of hell! With the other it is—well, not quite the manners of heaven. I can imagine something brighter even than M. Le Gros; but it does very well for earth. M. Le Gros knows that a young woman should be treated as a human being; and even his blandishments are pleasant enough, as they are to take the shape of golden guineas. As for me, M. Le Gros is quite good enough for my idea of this world."

But on the next day, a misfortune took place which well-nigh obliterated all the joy which M. Le Gros had produced. It was not singing night, and Mr. O\'Mahony had just taken up his hat to go away to his debating society, when Frank Jones was announced. "Frank, what on earth did you come here for?" These were the words with which the lover was greeted. He had endeavoured to take the girl in his arms, but she had receded from his embrace.

"Why, Rachel!" he exclaimed.

"I told you not to come. I told you especially that you were not to come."

"Why did you tell him so?" said Mr. O\'Mahony; "and why has he come?"

"Not one ............