stand that of course it was unimportant where a name appeared upon a page, whether at the top, the bottom, or in the middle, still it did seem to him that a little thought might have arranged matters better. Most of the other names were a mere wilderness of the commonplace in which the eye wandered without interest.
There were exceptions, however;—he found one of them not far above "Mr. Laurence Ogle"; and this particular exception arrested hig attention as if with a faint strain of music Plifed upon foreign and unfamiliar instruments. "Momoro" was the name; "Mme. Momoro," and ynderneath it, "Mr. Hyacinthe Momoro." Ogle murmured "Momoro" over to himself several times, "Momoro—Madame Momoro—Madame Momoro, Hyacinthe Momoro—Momoro." Momoro was the most romantic name he had ever encountered, he thought; a name operatic in flavour and suggestive of high performances in history or even antique legend. Moreover, it might be a name of practical value to him; for he should ever make use of French "characters" in a play he could call one of them "Momoro." Indeed, Momoro so fascinated him that, letting the list drop in his lap, he began dreamily to
