I took up the first chords. Then came surprise again. I had expected him to possess a big, bull-dog bass, full of sound and fury, and without a touch of feeling in it. To my amazement, his voice turned out to be a particularly sweet, true tenor. Shut your eyes, and you could imagine that it was the most sympathetic and delightful of men who was singing, instead of _the Governor_! Can there be many more surprises about this man? However, I flatter myself that I’ve given him several. The crushed-looking, deferential typist in the ready-made delaine blouse, and with the carbon-stained fingers, that shook with nervousness when he rattled off his far-too-quick dictation to them, was a distinct contrast to this dainty, well-dressed young woman, who lays her own plans for him to see that she is laughing at him in her sleeve. And it’s his turn to use deference to me. “Thank you, so much—er—Nancy.” This last word brought out with a jerk of resolution. “It’s a treat to be accompanied by someone who can do it so unusually well; it’s like waltzing with a partner whose step just suits one’s own.” Good gracious! Where and when has this man learned to dance? But he _can_ sing. I quite enjoyed playing for it. I think we went through quite half a dozen songs—“Widdicombe Fair” was one of them—before I remembered that this wasn’t the form I meant _my_ enjoyment to take. So, when he put up yet another—“Drake’s Drum” this time—and said, “Shall we try this?” I relapsed into my wickedly mild manner once more, and replied hesitatingly: “Don’t you think that would be enough—for Mrs. Waters? I mean, that she would consider I had stayed the right length of time? May—mayn’t I get down, now?” “Oh! Sorry if I have tired you,” said the Governor quietly. He walked across the room to open the door for me. There, with his hand on the door-knob, my employer paused and looked down at me almost as if he were looking at me for the first time. It was a curious sort of stare, half-amused, half-frowning. I should think it must have lasted while one could count five. Was there a sort of _threat_ in it? Yes! I suppose it meant that he wasn’t going to stand any more of my masquerading impertinences, that somehow he meant to overawe me, to keep the upper hand over me still. But he won’t. Of course it’s rather flurrying to be looked at like that, so hard and unexpectedly.... But I wasn’t _really_ flurried——only a little glad when he opened the door, said “Good night!” and shut it after me. I was turning towards the haven of the drawing-room when, half-way across the hall, I heard the door of the “den” open again, and the Governor’s step behind me. “I think you forgot this, didn’t you?” he said, holding out to me the ring I had left lying on the top of the piano. “Oh, _thank_ you,” I said apologetically. He went back into the den. I slipped my “engagement” ring on to my finger again. As a matter of fact I _hadn’t_ “forgotten” it.