Opal sat down, out of breath but covered with glory. Quite a thrill passed round the room at so romantic a story. "O-o-h! It ought to be put on the cinema," suggested Maude Carey. "I can see it all--the balustrade and the moonlight and the count coming, and then the wedding scene. How _did_ you think of it?" "Oh, it just came somehow," admitted Opal modestly. "Well, it's ripping anyway." "Only very sad," objected Muriel. "Tales like that nearly always are sad," put in Mavis; "it wouldn't be so romantic somehow if it turned out happily." "Couldn't the lovers have run away?" "Of course not," said Opal sharply. "Bernardo wasn't to be released until the wedding was over." "Did he get off after all, or did Bertino break his word?" "Look here! you mustn't ask so many questions," interrupted Mavis. "If we don't hurry on we shall never finish our programme. Perhaps we'd better take a comic turn next. Merle, will you give us 'The Dandy Musician'?" There was a piano in the playroom, and Merle moved forwards towards it. Her contribution was in the nature of a humorous entertainment. "I'm going to show you," she explained, "how Professor Vladimir Limpidimpidumpski gave a recital in the Town Hall of Gapeford before an audience of the most distinguished people in the neighbourhood." Merle was a capital little actress, and she took off the ways of a conceited pianist in a most amusing fashion. She twirled the music-stool energetically, sat down with great pomp, threw back her hair, flung her hands in the air, touched the keys with much affectation, thumped a growling bass, and ran a finger up and down the treble, gazing meanwhile at the ceiling with an air of intense sentiment. Then she hunched up her shoulders and made a violent and wild onslaught on the instrument, banging chords furiously with the weight of her whole arms, and rolling her head as if in frenzy; a sudden pause was followed by a faint tinkle in the treble, then up went the arms again, her head went down in the middle, and she finished by a tremendous thump at either end of the piano, while her nose played the central C. The tremendous bows which she returned in answer to the applause were part of the performance, and provoked more clapping. The girls clamoured for an encore, but at that she shook her head. "Professor Vladimir Limpidimpidumpski never gives encores," she declared. "He says it takes it out of him, and he can only do it once." "Poor, frail flower," laughed Nesta. "Send him to a nursing-home for a rest cure." "Right-o! And we'll have your contribution while he goes." "Oh no!" "Yes, yes! Don't be bashful! Come along!" "It's your turn, Nesta, really," urged Mavis, as chairwoman of the proceedings.