“O Queen of the Nile!  What Antony awaits your smiles?”

As if aware that she were scrutinized, the grey eyes, sank to the carpet, then met Olga’s.

“Miss Neville is not the only person who has found in me a resemblance to the Egyptian sorceress.  When I return to Italy, Story shall immortalize me in connection with his own impassioned poem.  Let me see, how does it begin: 

‘Here, Charmian, take my bracelets.’”

She passed her hand across her low wide brow, and, glancing furtively at Mr. Palma, she daringly repeated the strongest passages of the poem, while her flute-like tones seemed to gather additional witchery.

Sitting in one corner, with an open book in her hand, Regina looked at her and listened, fascinated by her singular beauty, but astonished at the emphasis with which she recited imagery that tinged the girl’s cheek with red.

“If there be a ‘cockatoo’ in Gotham, doubtless you will own it to-morrow.  But forgive me, oh, Cleopatra! if I venture the heresy that Story’s poem—­gorgeous, though I grant it—­leaves a bad taste in one’s mouth, like richly spiced wine, hot and sweet and deliciously intoxicating; but beware of to-morrow!  ’Sometimes the poison of asps is not confined to fig-baskets; and with your permission, I should like to offer you an infallible antidote, Seraph of the Nile?”

Mrs. Carew smiled defiantly, and inclined her head, interpreting the lurking challenge in Olga’s fiery hazel eyes.

Leaning a little forward to note the effect, the latter began and recited with much skill the entire words of “Maud Muller.”  Whenever the name of the Judge was pronounced, she looked at Mr. Palma, and there was peculiar emphasis in her rendition of the lines: 

“But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love tune.
* * * * *
He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.”

How had Olga discovered the secret which he believed so securely locked in his own heart?  Not a muscle moved in his cold guarded face, but a faint flush stole across his cheek as he met her sparkling gaze.

Mrs. Carew’s rosy lip curled scornfully: 

“My dear Miss Neville, should you ever be smitten by the blasts of adversity, your charming recitative talent would prove wonderfully remunerative upon the stage.”

“Thanks! but my observation leads me to believe that at the present day the profession of the Sycophants pays the heaviest dividends.  Does Cleopatra’s fondness for figs enable her to appreciate my worldly wisdom?”

Regina knew that Olga meant mischief to both host and guest, and though she did not comprehend the drift of her laughing words, she noticed the sudden smile that flashed over her guardian’s countenance, and the perplexed expression of Mrs. Carew’s eyes.

“Miss Neville has as usual floundered into her favourite blue mire, whose stale scraps of learning cannot tempt me to pursuit.”