As she so thinks, herself wedged in among a phalanx of women, she sees a stir among the band she is watching. It expands and moves, pursuing Betty, who has walked to the piano. Evidently she has been persuaded to sing. As soon as this intention has become manifest in the room there is a polite hush in the talk. Wives look menacingly at unmusical husbands. The Bishop, who is fond of music, approaches the instrument. Betty has seated herself leisurely, her audacious eyes wandering round and taking in the prelate with a mischievous twinkle. 'I am not quite sure that you will like it,' Peggy hears her say. 'But, you know, I cannot help that--I did not write it. It is supposed to be said by an affectionate husband on the eve of his setting out for the wars.' With this prelude she sets off-- 'Oh! who will press that lily-white hand When I am far away? Some other man!' Two more lines in the nature of a chorus follow, but they are so drowned by a roar of applause that Peggy can't catch them. She can only conjecture their nature from the look of impudent laughing challenge which the singer throws at the men around her. Under cover of that roar of applause the Bishop turns abruptly away. The second verse follows-- 'Oh! who will kiss those ruby lips When I am far away? Some other man!' Again the two drowned lines. Again the chord and the applause; but this time it is very evident that the approbation is confined to the circle round the piano. Betty has been well taught, and her enunciation is exceedingly pure and distinct. Not a word of her charming song is lost. She has reached the third verse-- 'Oh! who will squeeze that little waist When I am far away? Some other man!' Again that roar of admiring laughter from the men round the piano--all the more marked from the displeased silence of the rest of the room. But is it only men who are encoring so ecstatically? Is not that Prue who is joining her enraptured plaudits to theirs?--Prue, with flushed face and flashing eyes, and slight shoulders convulsed with merriment? If she could but get her away! But that is out of the question; Prue is in the inner circle, utterly beyond reach. 'Oh! who will pay those little bills?' Peggy cannot stand it any longer; it makes her sick. A gap in the ranks of ladies that had shut her in gives her the wished-for opportunity to escape. She slips towards an open French window giving on the terrace. Before reaching it she has to pass Lady Roupell and her Patience. As she does so she hears the old lady saying, in a voice of tepid annoyance, to the man beside her: 'I wish that some one would stop her singing that indecent song. She will not leave me a rag of character in the county!' CHAPTER XIV. 'Whilst she was here Methought the beams of light that did appear Were shot from her; methought the moon gave none But what it had from her.'