“Eugene, shall I sing you a ballad?  One of those simple old tunes we used to love so well in days gone by.”

“No, no.  Something operatic!” cried Antoinette, without giving him an opportunity to reply.

“Well, then, Miss Dupres; select something.”

“Can’t you favor us with ’Casta-Diva’?” returned the beauty,—­with something very like a sneer.

Beulah’s eyes gave a momentary flash; but by a powerful effort she curbed her anger and commenced the song.

It was amusing to mark the expression of utter astonishment which gradually overspread Antoinette’s face, as the magnificent voice of her despised rival swelled in waves of entrancing melody through the lofty rooms.  Eugene looked quite as much amazed.  Beulah felt her triumph, and heartily enjoyed it.  There was a sparkle in her eye and a proud smile on her lip, which she did not attempt to conceal.  As she rose from the piano, Eugene caught her hand, and said eagerly: 

“I never dreamed of your possessing such a voice.  It is superb—­ perfectly magnificent!  Why did not you tell me of it before?”

“You heard it long ago, in the olden time,” said she, withdrawing her hand and looking steadily at him.

“Ah, but it has improved incredibly.  You were all untutored then.”

“It is the culture, then, not the voice itself?  Eh, Eugene?”

“It is both.  Who taught you?”

“I had several teachers, but owe what excellence I may possess to my guardian.  He aided me more than all the instruction books that ever were compiled.”

“You must come and practice with the musical people who meet here very frequently,” said Mrs. Graham.

“Thank you, madam; I have other engagements which will prevent my doing so.”

“Nonsense, Beulah; we have claims on you.  I certainly have,” answered Eugene.

“Have you?  I was not aware of the fact.”

There was a patronizing manner in all this which she felt no disposition to submit to.

“Most assuredly I have, Beulah; and mean to maintain them.”

She perfectly understand the haughty expression of his countenance, and, moving toward the door, replied coldly: 

“Another time, Eugene, we will discuss them.”

“Where are you going?” inquired Mrs. Graham rather stiffly.

“To Cornelia.  The doctor came down a few minutes since.”

She did not pause to hear what followed, but ran up the steps, longing to get out of a house where she plainly perceived her presence was by no means desired.  Cornelia sat with her head drooped on her thin hand, and, without looking up, said, more gently than was her custom: 

“Why did you hurry back so soon?”

“Because the parlor was not particularly attractive.”

There came the first good-humored laugh which Beulah had ever heard from Cornelia’s lips, as the latter replied: 

“What friends you and old growling Diogenes would have been!  Pray, how did my cousin receive your performance!”