“And with England and France to back her up, and Russia piling in on the other side----” said Ray. “There you are,” said the Colonel, “--practically a European war.” Mrs Canon had meanwhile been quietly and unobtrusively, but none the less pertinaciously, affording Lois opportunities of explaining the exact nature of her relationship to Ray. And two vivacious Misses Canon, with their sympathies already openly given to the victim, eagerly awaited developments. But Lois saw no reason for any beating about the bush. She explained the matter in full, acknowledging somewhat of irregularity in their proceedings but smilingly suggesting that if the war gave no one grounds for greater complaint they would all be very well off. “How ripping!” said the younger girl, with dancing eyes. “Katharine, my _dear_!” said her mother reprovingly. “Absolutely and perfectly delectable!” asserted her sister, quite unabashed by the maternal disapproval. “I just wish----” “Madeleine!” And Madeleine’s envious desires remained locked in the secrecy of her maiden heart until she and Katharine went upstairs to bed that night. But she and her sister could not make enough of Lois for the rest of the evening, and their eyes rested on her caressingly and longingly as though by much looking they might possibly absorb some of her obvious happiness. “It must be delightful beyond words,” whispered Katharine. “It is,” beamed Lois. “Just like a honeymoon, only more so,” sighed Madeleine rapturously. “Just all that.” “And you were at the Conservatorium at Leipsic!” said Katharine. “I had nearly completed my two years there. It was a very jolly time. I enjoyed it every bit.” “Do come and sing something for us. There’s a music-room over there and quite a decent piano.” “I don’t mind. I love singing,” and they slipped quietly away to the music-room and shut themselves in. But no doors made by man could contain the full rounded sweetness of that fresh young voice, and presently the handle was quietly turned from the outside and the door pushed noiselessly open so that the multitude beyond might share in the enjoyment of it. She had no music with her, of course, and what lay about--the jetsam of the years--did not appeal to her. So she played and sang some of the old Scotch songs dear to her mother, and they went right home to the hearts of some of her listeners as perhaps the more stately productions of the greater masters would not have done. Between times, on the expectant silence of the hall, there would trickle from the inner sanctuary a subdued murmur of talk and now and again a ripple of laughter, and then the chords would sound again and the full sweet voice would peal out gloriously, and hearts swelled large in sympathy with it.