Mary, glad of anything to hide her confusion, bent over the table to look at it. “Well,” she said, “and what is the condition that depends on me.” “Nay, ask the giver,” said Mrs. James, “he must make his agreement with you himself, I cannot make bargains for him.” Mary was half afraid to lift her eyes to Forsyth’s face, but she did so, and asked by a glance what it was he required. “The condition is not a very difficult one,” said he, in his most bland and soothing tone, “it was merely that Mrs. Melville would get you to sing this song for me. I was afraid I should fail did I ask myself.” “And why this song, Mr. Forsyth,” asked Mary, “is it such a favourite?” “I heard you sing it a year ago,” was the answer, spoken too low, Mary thought, to reach Mrs. James’s ear, and again the blood came rushing in torrents to her face. Mrs. James began to move about as though about to leave the room; this silence would not do, it was too embarrassing, and Mary resumed, though her voice had likewise grown imperceptibly lower. “Christian is very fond of this song, and we all of us like it because she does.” Mrs. James heard this, however, and, elated by Mary’s coming to her house that morning, and her own expected triumph over Christian, she could not resist the temptation. “Oh, Christian has such strange notions,” she said gaily, “she likes things that nobody else does. I can’t conceive why you are all continually quoting Christian--Christian! one hears nothing else from James and you, Mary, but Christian, Christian.” “Christian never set her own inclination in opposition to any other person’s wish in her life,” said Mary, warmly; “you do not know Christian, Elizabeth, or you would not speak of her so.” “Miss Melville’s good qualities,” chimed in Forsyth, “Miss Melville’s rare qualities, must gain as much admiration wherever she is seen, as they seem to have gotten love and reverence from all who are within the range of their beneficent exercise, and who have the privilege of knowing their value fully;” and he smiled his sweetest smile in Mary’s face, as she looked up to him with grateful glistening eyes, and inwardly thanked him for his appreciation of dear Christian in her heart. How superior, thought Mary, is he to such worldly people as Elizabeth, and her coterie, _he_ appreciates Christian, _he_ can estimate her properly. Yet Mary, all the time that her heart glowed under these feelings towards Forsyth, felt that she had thwarted Christian’s warmest wishes, and is still farther thwarting them by the very look with which she thanked Forsyth for his championship. Mrs. James is at the window carefully examining the leaves of some rare winter plants--another gift of Forsyth’s giving; and there ensues another awkward silence. At length she breaks in once more. “Am I to have my music, Mary? will you fulfil the conditions Mr. Forsyth has attached to this, or shall I have to send it back again?”