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named Tosti tells an amusing little story of feminine persistence.
It was during one of his busiest mornings, with a long list of singing lessons to be got through, that a knock came at the door of Tosti's flat. His valet was ill, and so Tosti went to the door himself. A lady, a stranger to him, stood on the threshold.
"Signor Tosti?" she inquired.
" Oh," said the lady, "lam singing your song ' My Memories ' at Manchester to-night, and I want you to kindly run through it with me."
" Madam," answered Tosti, politely but firmly, " I fear it is impossible. I have two pupils with me now, and a third is waiting in the ante-room ; while others will shortly be arriving."
" But you must! " the lady persisted.
" I am sorry------" began Tosti again, when he
suddenly received a violent push backwards and the lady walked into the studio.
Tosti followed, protesting. After a long argument, which threatened every moment to become heated, the lady snapped out—
"Very well, I shan't sing your song then ! "
" Madam," said Tosti, taking her by the hand, " I am infinitely obliged to you."
The lady gave one look at him and fled.
Of Tosti's Italian songs, " La Serenata " and