The memory of that miserable failure, when I "had led the singing," was a constant sore in my mind. I had begun to think that I had not done myself justice on that memorable occasion, and the desire to make another trial under more favorable circumstances was very strong in me. She looked a little startled at my question, but said nothing. "I know now," I continued pleadingly, "that you all sing softly. If you will only consent to try me once I promise to stick like cobbler's wax--I beg your pardon, I mean I will endeavor to adhere to the morendo and perdendosi style--don't you know? What am I saying! But I promise you, Yoletta, I shan't frighten you, if you will only let me try and sing to you once." She turned from me with a somewhat clouded expression of face, and walked with slow steps to the dais, and placing her hands on the keys, caused two of the small globes to revolve, sending soft waves of sound through the room. I advanced towards her, but she raised her hand apprehensively. "No, no, no; stand there," she said, "and sing low." It was hard to see her troubled face and obey, but I was not going to bellow at her like a bull, and I had set my heart on this trial. For the last three days, while working in the fields, I had been incessantly practicing my dear old master Campana's exquisite _M'appar sulla tomba_, the only melody I happened to know which had any resemblance to their divine music. To my surprise she seemed to play as I sang a suitable accompaniment on the globes, which aided and encouraged me, and, although singing in a subdued tone, I felt that I had never sung so well before. When I finished, I quite expected some word of praise, or to be asked why I had not sung this melody on that unhappy evening when I was asked to lead; but she spoke no word. "Will you sing something now?" I said. "Not now--this evening," she replied absently, slowly walking across the floor with eyes cast down. "What are you thinking of, Yoletta, that you look so serious?" I asked. "Nothing," she returned, a little impatiently. "You look very solemn about nothing, then. But you have not said one word about my singing--did you not like it?" "Your singing? Oh no! It was a pleasant-tasting little kernel in a very rough rind--I should like one without the other." "You talk in riddles, Yoletta; but I'm afraid the answers to them would not sound very flattering to me. But if you would like to know the song I shall be only too glad to teach it to you. The words are in Italian, but I can translate them." "The words?" she said absently. "The words of the song," I said. "I do not know what you mean by the words of a song. Do not speak to me now, Smith." "Oh, very well," said I, thinking it all very strange, and sitting down I divided my attention between my beautiful hose and Yoletta, still slowly pacing the floor with that absent look on her face.