_Sept. 26th_. This little sheet of water in front of the house has the greatest variety of aspects; its face is like a human face, full of varying expressions. A slight haze made it so beautiful just before sunset, I took my chair, and put it out of the window upon the grass, then followed it, and sat with it tipped back against the house, close by the window of one of those mysterious rooms where Miss Etty immures herself. I heard the Canary say in a scolding tone, "I should think you might oblige me; it is such a trifle to do, it is not worth refusing. Why should you care for him!" No answer, though I confess my ears were erected to the sharpest attitude of listening. I was wholly oblivious of _myself_, or I should have taken myself away, as in honor bound. "Won't you now, Etty? I'll only ask for one of our old duets, just one." "No, Flora," said Little Ugly, coldly enough. "Why not?" No answer. "To be sure, _he_ might hear. He would find out that you are musical. What of that? Where is the use of being _able_ to sing, to sing only when there's nobody to listen?" "I sing only to friends. I cannot sing, I have never sung, to persons in whom I have no confidence." "Afraid! What a little goose!" "Not afraid, exactly." "I don't comprehend, I am sure." "I do not expect you should." "I never did understand you." "You never will." Silence again. Flora tuned up, and, of all tunes, she must needs hum _my_ song. I was on my feet in a moment to depart, when I heard the clear tones of Etty's voice again, and stood still, with one foot advanced. "Flora, you should sharp that third note in the last line." Flora murdered it again, with the most atrocious, cold-blooded cruelty. I almost mocked the sound aloud in my passion. "I do not tell you to vex you, only I saw that Mr. Ratcliffe--" "You need not trouble yourself about _his_ opinion." "I knew you would not like it, if I told you of a mistake. But I supposed you would rectify it, and I should have done you a kindness, even against your will." "And I to hate you for it, eh?" "If you can." "Indeed I cannot, Etty, for you are my very best friend. But you are a horrid, truth-telling, formidable body. Why not let me sing on, my own way? I don't thank you a bit. I had rather sing it wrong, than be corrected. It hurts my pride. I think people should take my music as they find it. If it does not please them, they are not obliged to ask me to sing. One note wrong can surely be put up with, if the rest is worth hearing. I shall continue to sing it as I have done, I think." "No,--please don't!" "If I will mend it when I think of it, will you sing a duet?" "Yes, though it will cost me more than you know." "Poh!" And Flora sang the song, without accompaniment. The desired sharp rung upon my ears, and set my nerves at rest. "Bravo! Encore!" I cried, beneath the window, and was pelted with peach-stones. I wonder when this duet is to come off.