"Mr. Van Berg plays very well indeed, considering his youth and diffidence!" remarked Stanton. "And he has been taking advantage of a defenceless woman all this time! Mr. Van Berg, if you do not wish to lose your character utterly, you must take my place at the piano." "I admit," he replied, "that I have taken more pleasure than you will believe in your in your contribution to our evening's enjoyment, but rather than lose your good opinion I will attempt to play or sing anything you dictate, even though I put every one in the parlor to flight, with their fingers in their ears." "And you fear my taste will impose on you some such blood-curdling combination of sounds? Thank you." "Now, Van, you have taught us what unconditional surrender means. Miss Burton, ask him to play and sing some selections from the Oratorio of the Messiah." "Are you familiar with that?" she asked, with a sudden lighting up of her face. "Somewhat so, only as an amateur can be; but I see, from your expression, that you are." "I've contributed my share this evening," she said, decisively. "Please give us some selections from the Oratorio." "Lay your command, then, on Stanton also. There's a part that we have sung together as a duet occasionally, although it is not 'so nominated in the bond,' or score, rather." "If Mr. Stanton does not stand by his friend, then he should be left to stand by himself." "In the corner, I suppose you mean. But do not leave, Miss Burton. If you do not stand by Mr. Van Berg and sing with him the duet that begins with the words-- 'O death! where is thy sting?' you will deprive us all of the chief pleasure of the evening, and it's not in your nature to do that." "Please, please do, Miss Burton," cried a score of voices. "You know nothing about my nature, sir. I assure you that I can be a veritable dragon. But out of regard for Mr. Van Berg's 'youth and diffidence' I will sustain him." Van Berg's voice was not strong, but he sang with taste and good expression. It suggested refinement and culture rather than deep, repressed feeling, as had been the case in Miss Burton's singing. His style would be admired, and would not give much occasion for criticism, but, as a general thing, it would not stir and move the heart. Still, the audience gave close and pleased attention. Ida Mayhew, who all this time had been out on the piazza and but half listening to Mr. Sibley's compliments in her attention to the scenes at the piano, now rose and came to one of the open windows, where, while hidden from the singer, she could hear more distinctly. Her features did not indicate that she shared in the pleasure expressed on the other faces within, and her gathering frown was deepened by the shadow of the window frame. "You do not enjoy it!" said Mr. Sibley, complacently. "No," she answered, laconically; but for reasons he little understood. "Now you show your taste, Miss Mayhew."