But it was soon evident that within the studio itself there was animation enough.

From the long passage approaching it Doris heard someone shouting--declaiming--what appeared to be verse.

Madame, of course, reciting her own poems--poor Uncle Charles! Doris stopped outside the door, which was slightly open, to listen, and heard these astonishing lines--delivered very slowly and pompously, in a thick, strained voice: "My heart is adamant! The tear-drops drip and drip-- Force their slow path, and tear their desperate way.
The vulture Pain sits close, to snip--and snip--and snip My sad, sweet life to ruin--well-a-day! I am deceived--a bleating lamb bereft!--who goes Baa-baaing to the moon o'er lonely lands.
Through all my shivering veins a tender fervour flows; I cry to Love--'Reach out, my Lord, thy hands! And save me from these ugly beasts who ramp and rage Around me all day long--beasts fell and sore-- Envy, and Hate, and Calumny!--do thou assuage Their impious mouths, O splendid Love, and floor Their hideous tactics, and their noisome spleen, Withering to dust the awful "Might-Have-Been!"'" "Goodness! 'Howls the Sublime' indeed!" thought Doris, gurgling with laughter in the passage.

As soon as she had steadied her face she opened the studio door, and perceived Lady Dunstable's prospective daughter-in-law standing in the middle of the studio, head thrown back and hands outstretched, invoking the Cyprian.

The shriek of the first lines had died away in a stage whisper; the reciter was glaring fiercely into vacancy.
Doris's merry eyes devoured the scene.