IN A WINTER CITY. 121
After dinner there was a new tenor, who was
less of a delusion than most new tenors are;
and there was a great deal of very sestlietic and
abstruse talk about music; she said Uttle herself,
but sat and Ustened to Delia Eocca, who spoke
often and eloquently, with infinite grace and
accurate culture. To a woman who has cared
for no one all her Ufe, there is the strangest and
sweetest pleasure in finding at last one voice
whose mere sound is melody to her.
On the whole she went to bed still with that
dreamful content which had come on her in the day
—no doubt with the fresh sea wind. She knew
that she had looked at her best in a dress of pale
dead gold, with old black Spanish lace ; and she
had only one regret—that in too soft a mood, she
had allowed an EngUsh person, a Lady Feather¬
leigh, of whom she did not approve, to be pre¬
sented to her.
She was habituaUy the one desire and the one
despafr of aU her countrywomen.
Except so far as her physical courage, her skiU
in riding, and her beautiful complexion, which no
cold could redden, and »o heat could change.