'Oh, I see what you mean,' said Dick, who began to grow interested. You'll give "May the stars" first to the sopranos, and then repeat with the tenors and basses?' 'That's it. I'll show you,' replied Montgomery, rushing to the piano. 'Here are the sopranos singing in G, "May the stars"; tenors, "May the stars"; tenors and sopranos, "Much pleasure send you"; basses an octave lower, "May the stars--may stars." Now I'm going to join them together--"May the Stars."' Twisting round rapidly on the piano-stool, Montgomery pushed his glasses high up on his beak-like nose, and demanded an opinion. But before Dick could say a word a kick of the long legs brought the musician again face to the keyboard, and for several minutes he crashed away, occasionally shouting forth an explanatory remark, or muttering an apology when he failed to reach the high soprano notes. The lovesong, however, was too much for him, and, laughing at his own breakdown, he turned from the piano and consented to resume the interrupted conversation. Then the plot and musical setting of Montgomery's new work was discussed. The names of Offenbach and Hervé were mentioned; both were admitted to be geniuses, but the latter, it was declared, would have been the greater had he had the advantage of a musical education. Various anecdotes were related as to how the latter had achieved his first successes, and Montgomery, who questioned the possibility of a man who could not write down the notes being able to compose the whole score of an opera, maintained it was ridiculous to talk of dictating a finale. Kate often asked herself if she would ever be able to take part in these artistic discussions; she was afraid not. Even when she succeeded in picking up the thread of an idea, it soon got tangled with another, and she began to fear she would never know why Hervé was a better composer than Offenbach, and why a certain quintette was written on classical lines and such-like. She asked Montgomery to explain things to her, but he was more anxious to speak of his own music, and when the names of the ladies of the company were being run over in search of one who could take the part of a page, with a song and twenty lines of dialogue to speak, Dick said: 'Well, perhaps it isn't for me to say it, but I assure you that I don't know a nicer soprano voice than Mrs. Ede's.' 'Ho, ho!' cried Montgomery, twisting his legs over the arm of the chair, 'how is it I never heard of this before? But won't you sing something, Mrs. Ede? If you have any of your songs here I'll try the accompaniment over.' Kate, who did not know a crotchet from a semiquaver, grew frightened at this talk of trying over accompaniments, and tried to stammer out some apologies and excuses. 'Oh, really, Mr. Montgomery, I assure you Dick is only joking. I don't sing at all--I don't know anything about music.'