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carpet-bag containing 'props.'-and an extra shirt, if so fortunate constituted the whole of his luggage. A walk of thirty or forty miles on an empty stomach was by no means uncommon. A lift from a wagon was a godsend. The theatres were widely placed, and difficult of access; from Deal to Norwich or Gloucester on foot demanded all the staying powers of a Captain Barclay or a Weston. Coach-fares were mostly exorbitant, and altogether beyond the ability of the stroller. Happily, most of the younger men in the profession were single, and, as a rule, capable of enduring their hardships with a light heart. But the elder histrions, many of them with wives and families, were reduced to sad straits; provoking a smile now perhaps, after a lapse of years, but very mournful at the time. From the days of Thespis down to this hour, no lasting fame has been gained, no great reputation made, without the help of hard and incessant labour. Talent and energy will grasp the difficulties of the position at once, and by dint of unremitting effort, master them.

I claim for my dear, dead friend the merit of having surmounted these obstacles, of having fought the good fight with manly vigour, and come out of the conflict victorious. Loving his work with passionate ardour, and keenly alive to its delights, the memory of the pain and perils of his progression never forsook him. I remember the particulars of my first interview with him as accurately as though it had only occurred yesterday. I had written to him previously intimating my intention of joining a company, and soliciting his advice. He replied by return of post, explaining how fully his time was occupied, and asking me as a favour to come to him at the theatre. The nautical drama of The Lost Ship was then running at the Surrey-the old house, burnt down January 30, 1865-and T. P. Cooke, Mrs Honner, and Hicks were engaged in playing the principal parts. At the conclusion of this, I made my way round to the stage door, and soon found myself behind the

scenes.

I had hardly time to look about me when my friend came. Fresh from the boards, heated, palpitating, quivering with excitement, his first words were, as he grasped my hand: Well, my dear sir, in what way can I be of service to you?' Full of confidence in my projected step, I entered with some detail into my proposed arrangements. After patiently listening to me for some time, he laid his hand gently on my shoulder, and looked wistfully into my eyes, as he delivered himself thus: "You speak well; your appearance is in your favour. But pardon me, what are your present personal circumstances? Are your prospects for the future so unpropitious that you fly to the stage as a last resource? You are young, don't seem to be wanting in intelligence; is there no avocation in which your relatives can place you, that will not at least produce the weekly wage of a bricklayer's labourer?'

He paused for a moment, the perspiration all the while streaming down his forehead and face from his recent exertions. So great was my surprise at this exordium, that I could not utter a word. Without taking any notice of my confusion, he continued: Excepting under

very peculiar circumstances, I make it a point never to recommend the adoption of a profes sional career. You are possibly, nay, probably, attracted by the show, the glitter, the music, and the applause. The effect of these accidental accessories is of course patent to all; but the painful efforts rendered necessary to produce them are hidden from the public eye, and thoroughly known to those only whose secret labours are carried on behind the curtain. I doubt if you have counted the cost and consequences of this step. There is no royal road to eminence; the greatest actors have ever been the hardest workers. Have you courage enough to trample down the opposing forces which will as surely beset you as that the sun will rise to-morrow?'

Here we were interrupted by a messenger, who handed my friend a note, with the observation that the bearer waited. Turning aside, with a 'Pardon me,' I was left to myself for a moment; and never shall I forget the revulsion of feeling that ensued. My immature theories thrown to the winds; the ecstatic delights of a career I had set my cast upon, shattered into fragments. I had put to sea in a rudderless vessel and been wrecked. Astounded and bewildered, I sat down with my head between my hands. I was dumbfounded; it appeared like a dream. I could not think. I felt faint, and longed for a breath of the outside air.

In the meantime, my Mentor, now disengaged, came to me, and taking my hand in his as he saw my emotion, spoke in the tenderest manner. 'My dear young friend, I have thought it my duty to put the case clearly before you. At your age, a step in the wrong direction may be fatal. Remember that your success as an actor would demand the devotion of your life; you would have to fight your way inch by inch, and hold your ground as you conquered it.'

I interposed: "You at least do not seem to have been defeated in the contest.'

Looking sadly at me, he continued: 'No, not altogether; but I have not come out of it unscathed. My wounds are numerous, and deep; my weapons have been hacked and worn, but I have always been carried from the plain on my shield! The love of my profession has been to me both sword and buckler; and if in climbing, the weapon has sometimes failed me, the buckler has always been my shelter and protection. I must leave you now; the stage must not be kept waiting, so fare you well. Think over what I have said, and do not determine rashly.'

And so we parted. Now, 'that I have unlocked my bosom of this perilous stuff,' I cannot do less than introduce my long-suffering reader to the gentleman himself, at whose door we have so long been standing.

Ringing the bell at the garden wicket, I hear a heavy footfall inside on the paved forecourt; the gate is opened, and once more, after a lapse of many years, I stand face to face with my old mentor, N. T. Hicks. Imagine a man upwards of six feet in his stockings, with athletic limbs in proportion to his height, full neck-left bare-and broad-chested. One of the finest stage faces ever seen; wide brow, surmounted by a thin crop of long light hair, now becoming grizzly; large nose of the Kemble type,

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thin lips, and a noble chin, not too prominent; gray eyes, with a tearful and careworn look in them; skin slightly tinged with brown by exposure to the sun, and over all a sad expression. Asking my name, which he does not appear to recollect, I enter the opening in the wall, and make a descent of four or five steps into the garden-Hogarth's garden!

Leading me under the boughs of a huge mulberry tree, planted by the painter himself-now bound together and supported by iron bands and chains-he places himself with his back to the trunk, and scrutinising me narrowly, disclaims all knowledge of my name or person. I enter into particulars; and by degrees some faint light seems to dawn in his memory in connection with our former acquaintanceship. But the effort to recall them evidently gives him pain, and his eyes fill with tears. Taking my arm, we go into the house, where I am introduced to his wife, a gentle-looking lady of good address and breeding. I apologise for my intrusion, and explain its reasons, which she was pleased to accept with a smile of approval. We adjourn to the parlour on the left-hand side of the entrance-hall, a curiously shaped room, full of odd nooks and corners, low in the ceiling, and wainscoted throughout with oak panelling, rendered almost black with age. Here we seat ourselves; and the rays of the setting sun streaming in through the small lattices, impart a glow to the darkened wood as we prepare to indulge in 'the cup that cheers but not inebriates.'

with

In searching the annals of theatrical biography, it is by no means rare to find that the representation of some particular character has become so far identified with the actor's name, that the casual mention of the one almost invariably recalls the other. As thus: Garrick with Richard III., Kemble with Coriolanus, Kean Othello, Macready with Virginius, Mackay with the Bailie' in Rob Roy, Denvil with Manfred, and T. P. Cooke with Black-eyed Susan as William. This list might be lengthened considerably if it were necessary. Suffice it, however, to add one other name to the catalogue in the person of N. T. Hicks with The Wizard of the Wave. The Victoria had passed into the hands of a Mr Richard Ratcliffe in 1840, who signalled his advent by the production of a nautical drama bearing the above title, furnished by J. T. Haines. This was placed upon the stage with the utmost completeness, and supported by a company which did ample justice to its merits. Hicks performed the dual parts of Captain Faulkner and the Unknown; John Dale, Don José; Harding, Tom Truck-an admirable bit of acting; Attwood, Timothy Treacle; Miss Emmeline Montague-who afterwards became Mrs Compton-was the Donna Isabinda. Coney and Blanchard, the noted swordsmen, were also engaged, and did excellent service. The pictorial illustrations were fine and appropriate; but the last scene culminated in a triumph of stage mechanism such as had never been seen in any theatre within my experience.

of his compeers. How lovingly he dwelt on the dramatic eminence of G. V. Brooke, George Bennett, Thomas Lyon, Charles Pitt, and Samuel Phelps! The combative faculty which not unusually accompanies a highly nervous temperament, had died out, and left behind it no shadow of envy or uncharitableness.

Entering more fully into the object of my Our prolonged meal concluded, my friend visit, I revert to some of my earliest remem- and I stroll out of doors into the well-kept brances, by instancing some of the characters garden. I reverted to the memory of many which I had seen him personate in my younger of the elder favourites of the public with whom days, beginning with the run of the Jewess at he had been associated, canvassing their merits the Victoria in 1835—that I recollected his play- and debating their peculiarities. Liberal in his ing Othello to the Iago of the elder Cobham, judgments, he was at the same time keenly in the year following at the same theatre-alive to the sameness, the mannerisms of certain that, on a particular occasion, I had seen and heard him greeted with a loud and prolonged hiss-which mark of disapprobation I took to be one of the grandest testimonies to his talent that I could call to mind. The occasion was this. On the presentation of Moncrieff's version of Jack Sheppard in October 1839, he enacted the character of Jonathan Wild; Harding, a young man of good ability, being the Jack; Dale, the Sir Rowland Trenchard; and Manders, Kneebone. Let it be understood that Hicks was the leading actor of the company, and on the best of terms with his audience, and that, moreover, the absurd practice of hissing a performer because he happens to be cast for the villain of the piece had not yet come into vogue, and you will imagine the surprise with which this involuntary expression of feeling was received. The rapacious cruelty of the part had been so forcibly portrayed during the progress of the drama, that when, in the concluding scene, under the Tyburn tree' the mob are wildly gesticulating and jeering, the audience in front caught up the cry and added to the tumult. For an instant the amazed actor turned to the audience to learn what was amiss, when the clamour immediately altered its character to the loudest applause. Bravo, Hicks!' He had forgotten, the incident; but looked pleased at my remembrance, and thanked me for recalling it.

·

How well do I remember all the trifling incidents of that evening, little dreaming it was to be the last I should enjoy in the society of my friend on this side of the dark and everflowing river. I could not avoid remarking that my later edition of professional small-talk, and the occasional quip and crank with which we larded our lean conversation, were received with extra warmth. The sweet face of his good and lady-like wife also brightened with enhanced pleasure as we sat under the porch indulging in our quiet gaiety. In illustration of some of his anecdotes, he placed before me a large portfolio containing various portraits, letters of celebrities, and newspaper cuttings, about each of which, as they came under notice, he had some observation to make, or some history to relate. With a promise that I would shortly renew my visit, he followed me out of doors to the garden steps, where we parted. My town engagements being particularly pressing at this season, I could not find time so soon as I had expected to visit him again; but, buoyed up with the

hope of his returning convalescence, was less uneasy on that account than hitherto. But the receipt of a black-edged envelope bearing the post-mark of Chiswick roused my worst fears, which a perusal of the contents confirmed. My friend was dead; the lamp, long glimmering, had ceased to burn. No more the tender welcome greeting from his honest eyes! The picturesque manner, and the eloquent voice, which of old roused my young enthusiasm, lie buried out of sight; but the memory of them remains written legibly on the hidden tablets of the heart. Newton Treen Hicks died February 21, 1873, aged 62. To this complexion must we come at last.'

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'I thought as much,' she said with a little laugh.

But he is not coming back alone, Naomi,' I whispered very low.

She turned quickly upon me. 'What do you mean, Olive?' she said, her lips quivering.

'I mean-I mean- Oh, Naomi, surely, surely you know the kind of man he is-that he is not to be trusted.'

'Tell me at once!' she cried, catching my arm. 'Tell me at once, Olive!'

'He is married, Naomi.'

She started up, and stood for a moment as if transfixed with amazement; then breaking into a low ringing laugh of bitter scorn, she said: 'So some one else will wear the diamonds after all!' It was the only word of anything like disappointment I ever heard pass her lips.

To this day it is a puzzle to me. Did she care for him or not? Was it only ambition which prompted her to reject so many suitors for his sake? Had she resolved to be Lady Clifford at all hazards, and was her heart untouched? never knew; I never can know; we never speak of those things now.

I

Although Sir Arthur told his mother he was on his way home, the summer was on the wane before he brought his bride to Grange. There were no public demonstrations, no illuminations, no rejoicings. Lady Clifford (née Scadder) just drove quietly from the railway station in a onehorse brougham, and arrived amongst us as simply as if we had known her from childhood. I was at Grange that day; Naomi was again at Liverpool. She managed to be absent in just the most natural way in the world. No one thought it strange; I only, held the clew.

Arthur Clifford was terribly changed. The years he had spent in America had altered him almost beyond belief. It was not that he was bronzed or browned, although he was both one

but

and the other; not that his good looks were terribly impaired, although that also was the case. But there was a curious look about him, which told of wild company, of his having been in the society of reckless men; a flavour of rowdyism, very unlike the ease and courtesy of an English gentleman. But his wife was perfectly lovelyfair, delicately formed, slight, and graceful as a harebell. Her azure eyes, daintily chiselled features, pearly teeth, skin, resembled nothing so much as an exquisite Dresden china shepherdess. She charmed me at a glance. I had often heard of the delicate beauty of American women; this was altogether a surprise to me. True, she had many little ways about her which were scarcely in accordance with our received ideas of the proprieties; and Sir Arthur's mother was not pleased at her voice or accent. But she seemed to possess entire sway over her husband; and so far as I could see during that first visit of hers to Grange, she was a shrewd little person, and had all her wits about her. Sir Arthur and she only remained ten days at Grange. She told us she was very sorry; but her cousin, Mayflower Scadder, was going to marry a Russian Prince with an unpronounceable name; and she had promised to be at the grand wedding in Paris. All the world will be there,' she said to me; and I'm having a gown made for it that will beat all creation.' She seemed to have taken a wonderful liking for me; and when she uttered-as now-any of her Americanisms, which she saw startled me, she would laugh or blush, and ask me if we English thought her queer. So we became quite confidential, and I think that I may have been in a very small way of use to her.

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Early in September, she and her husband left for Paris. She took the diamonds with her.

"That's a clever little woman,' Uncle Tom said to me one day, shortly after young Lady Clifford and her husband had left. I was surprised, for Uncle Tom never came near Grange while Sir Arthur was there, and I did not know of his having met the young lady. I said as much.

The old man laughed. 'Oh, she came down to the Mills and made my acquaintance, my dear,' he said. 'Went all over the factory, asked questions about everything; and really she seems to be a most intelligent little body. She was very eager about the mineral wealth of the place. Mark my words, Olive: you'll see the coal-pits opened before a year goes round, or I am much mistaken.'

I did not think very much of his words just then; but when an agent from London came down and began to examine the bleak moors between Grange and the sea, and when queerlooking implements began arriving at the small station near, I found the truth of what he said. Lady Clifford was not a woman to suffer her thousands and tens of thousands to lie idle; she would make good use of her wealth, and every pound must turn into forty shillings. I suppose she was right; but to me there seemed to be a terrible greed about this headlong race after wealth. I may have done her wrong. Now, I know that I did, and I am sorry.

Spring was beginning, bleak and cold, as it

Sept. 23, 1882.]

usually begins with us in our hard north, when Sir Arthur and my lady returned home. Ruth was at Grange; but at once she resigned the reins of government into the clever hands of the little American; and capital hands they proved to be. She was born to govern, that fair, slight, childishlooking woman; and uncle, who condoned her husband's crime for the sake of his beautiful wife, told me more than once that he had never met a woman with such a head for business. She was at everything, seen everywhere; nothing escaped her keen eyes, or baffled her acute penetration. Moreover, from her exceeding beauty, her known cleverness, and her reputed wealth, she became the most popular little woman in the west of England.

The Cliffords were a good deal asked out that year. After Easter, they went to London, and a Countess presented the little American at the last drawing-room of the season. She was wonderfully admired; in fact, she became the fashion; and Sir Arthur became to the world 'Lady Clifford's husband.' I believe Naomi and he met once or twice in society in London, but I never inquired about it. It was a subject upon which there was silence between us.

In August, the lady and her husband returned home. The admiration she had received had not in the slightest degree spoilt the little beauty; she was just the same shrewd, practical young woman as ever, with an eye on everything, a finger in every pie; and Sir Arthur never interfered with her. He and I seldom encountered one another; by tacit consent, we kept out of each other's way; and although his wife and I were great friends, I scarcely ever exchanged more than a passing word with him; neither did Uncle Thomas nor my father have any intercourse with him; and whispers of debasing habits learned abroad, and practised in secret, began to circulate amongst the people. For my own part, I hardly know if they were or were not true. I remembered the avidity with which he drank up uncle's wine years ago, and I shuddered. Everything outwardly seemed to flourish with the Cliffords. The mines were now in full work, and the yield of coal exceeded the wildest dreams of the proprietors; wealth seemed pouring in upon them.

The presence of the younger lady at Grange made but little change in our intercourse with our dear Lady Clifford; and I observed with deep joy, how the elder's prejudices were gradually wearing away, and how the younger was slowly winning her way to her mother-in-law's heart. I have said that young Lady Clifford was very popular in our part of the world. Even at the Duke's, she was the reigning belle; and it was whispered that a great ball which he was to give at Beckley Towers about Christmas, was chiefly in honour of her.

This ball at the Duke's was the theme of every tongue for many weeks before it came off. Invitations were sent to us; and as Joe, Harry, and Naomi were all at home and wild to go, I promised to go too.

Lady Clifford was staying at Beckley Towers; while we humble individuals were content to drive the long fifteen miles on a winter's night. The ballroom was a sight to see, with its artistic decorations and gorgeous dresses. The company

was most distinguished, even counting a Royal personage in its number, with dozens of celebrities besides. Ere I was half an hour inside the flowerwreathed door, I had encountered half-a-dozen acquaintances, which made things exceedingly pleasant to me; amongst the number was an old clergyman, a dear friend of my father's, and with him I made the circuit of the gorgeous room's and superb galleries. It was a real pleasure to go with him, because he knew all the famous pictures and could point them out to me.

'There are some fine Van Dycks at Grange,' he said, pausing before a splendid portrait by that master. 'But I think this is the finest specimen of him in the north of England.-By the way, have you seen Lady Clifford to-night? She is quite the loveliest woman in the room; and her dress is a marvel.'

I felt amused at the old clergyman's simple admiration for the young American; but when I saw her afterwards, dancing with the Royal personage, and attracting quite as many eyes as he, I did not wonder. She wore the celebrated diamonds-the diamonds which I had seen under such different circumstances a few years ago. They seemed to create a luminous circle around her, glittering on her fair head, her slender throat, her shapely arms and bosom, and starring the puffed and looped folds of her pale pink brocade dress. No wonder every one looked at her. There was not one amongst the number who could bear comparison with her. We had just a few whispered words together, and I lost sight of her in the crowd.

I was terribly tired after that ball, and resolved that it should be my last; nevertheless, I had enjoyed it after a fashion, and certainly I amused dear old Lady Clifford for three whole days with my account of it and of her lovely daughter-inlaw's success.

On the fourth day after the ball, Sir Arthur and his beautiful wife returned home; and on the evening of their return I got about the greatest surprise of my life. Just as I was preparing for our family dinner, a tiny note from Lady Clifford, requesting me to go to her at once, was put into my hand.

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'Her ladyship's sent the brougham,' my maid told me; and the man says he's not to go back without you.'

Feeling certain that something ominous had occurred, I wrapped a cloak round me and drove to Grange. I was shown into the smaller drawing-room much as usual, and found Sir Arthur, his wife, and mother waiting dinner, also in the most usual fashion.

'Oh, you're come, dear,' cried the younger lady in her effusive manner. 'So glad-so very glad to see you. Now we'll have a good time together and discuss the ball in real style.'

I felt mystified. Surely she never had sent for me in such an urgent fashion only to have a gossip about the ball. I failed to understand her. I remained in a state of puzzle all through dinner and for some time after it, until, the elder lady having gone to her rooms, and Sir Arthur being left to the company of the winebottle, the little lady brought me into her boudoir, closed fast the door, and facing me, said with a slight laugh: 'Olive, I've lost the diamonds.'

I staggered back and gasped for breath. 'Lost the diamonds?' I faltered. 'Lost?'

'Yes, yes. They were stolen out of my room at Beckley. Isn't it awkward?' She seemed to me to take it much more easily than I could. To me, the loss of those splendid jewels seemed something almost overwhelming, while to her it was only awkward.'

'It is a terrible misfortune,' I said.

She laughed one of her gay, little, bird-like laughs. Oh! as for that, they can be easily replaced; but it is rather awkward to lose them just now.'

I had heard of American recklessness, American extravagance; but to meet with such an example of it in her, in this clever managing little woman, who seemed to look so sharply after everything, almost took away my breath. I felt cruelly disappointed in her.

To a person of your enormous wealth,' I said coldly, 'the loss of a suit of diamonds worth twenty or thirty thousand pounds may seem a trifle, as you can so easily replace them; but to my mind'

She stopped me short by flinging her arms around me and kissing me heartily. 'O Olive, don't, don't!' she cried, laughing aloud. 'You'll kill me, Olive; yes, you will. But how were you to know? I hoodwinked you with the rest of them. Now I'll make a full confession. You're real grit, Olive Thorp, gold through and through; and you'll like me better for being honest and true with you. Sit down there, and listen to me. I don't want to make a fuss about those diamonds, or have any talk over them, because -because

She stopped, and her beautiful face flushed up. Then she leant forward till her face almost touched mine, and whispered: 'Because they ain't the real ones!'

I sat staring at her for a few moments. Not -the-real-ones?' I gasped at last, horror

stricken.

'No; they are not. The real ones are at Cannes with Mayflower, safe and sound. I sold them to her, and had these made in imitation of them.-Oh, don't look so horrified. Arthur knew the whole affair from first to last. I wouldn't have done it without his consent for a hundred worlds; but- Didn't you always think I had lots of cash?'

I said I was led to believe as much. She shook her little head. 'Bless you, I hadn't a cent, not I. It was Mayflower had the fortune. Uncle Pete died worth I can't tell you how much. One half he left to Mayflower, and the other half to her brother Devereux. Poor Mayflower! her appearance is ordinary beyond thought, but she is clever and quick. We were prime friends, and we never got jealous of each other. I reckon we got our share fair enough. She had the fortune, and I had the face. We were staying together in an hotel at Brooklyn, when Arthur and I came across each other. He thought I had the fortune, at first, and made up to me.-No, no; I didn't deceive him. I got too fond of him, poor old fellow; and he behaved like a man-he did indeed.'

She looked into the fire for a moment or two contemplatively; then she went on: He told me he was very poor, and that if he had a

She

little money, he could grow as rich as the best of us. First, I thought about getting Mayflower to lend us money to start the mines; then Arthur told me of the necklace and all the rest. I spoke to Mayflower on the spot. offered me the highest market price for the diamonds; and I took it. So we came to Europe; and in Paris we met a cousin of ours that was married to an Austrian Count; she got us there to her house in the Champs-Elysées, and before you knew where you were, produced this sleek Russian Prince, and made up a match for Mayflower. He's a good fellow, though, and kind to Mayflower. They are at Cannes now; and she's as happy as need be.

'Well, when I went over to the wedding, I took the diamonds to a celebrated man in Paris who can imitate such things so that no one could know the difference between the mock ones and the real; and he copied the Clifford diamonds for me for a mere trifle compared to the value of the real ones; and Mayflower gave me down in hard cash forty-four thousand pounds sterling, for the lot. Then we started the mines; and now we are getting rich in reality, and have everything we want. Isn't that better than having a lot of grandeur locked up in a box doing good to nobody? Eh, Olive? We are giving work to over three hundred men, improving the place, spending a good deal amongst the poor folks, and all just because we sold these old diamonds. I'm practical, you see. But I don't want a fuss made. I wish the thief joy of these stolen makebelieves.'

I grew to like her better after that confession of hers than I ever had done before; and as the years went on, and I, her most intimate friend, saw the heavy cross laid upon her in her domestic life, and how bravely she bore it, I came to love and honour her above all the women I knew. As for Sir Arthur, he sank lower and lower, not swiftly or suddenly, but with a slow and sure decline, until, despite his brave little wife's efforts to uphold him in the eyes of the world, men talked publicly of his disgrace, and the sins of his youth were remembered against him. At last, he died, leaving his widow dowered more amply than any Lady Clifford had ever been before. She was still in the heyday of life, good-looking and attractive; but she never married again, devoting herself solely to the young Sir Jasper Clifford, her handsome boy, who would succeed to all the wealth she had made, and his beautiful sister Ida, who inherited much of her mother's spirit. Lady Clifford lived on at Grange until her blind mother-in-law's death; and soon afterwards she and I went on our travels together. All my people were married then. My three brothers had homes and families of their own, and Naomi too had married. Hers was the strangest marriage of them all, for her husband is no other than the Devereux Scadder whose sister possessed the famous Clifford diamonds. He is a fine fellow, devoted to Naomi, for whose pleasure he has built a charming villa close to his sister at Cannes.

Once, just last year, I saw those diamonds again. It was at Rome, at a reception given by the Princess Ivan Doughbrousky, nee Mayflower Scadder. The little brown, beady-eyed woman

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