Margaret sprang from the organ in a panic. Mr. Grey had brought Mr. Warde to see her. But he was such a delightful looking old man, with long white hair falling over his collar, and such a benevolent expression of face, that Margaret felt acquainted with him directly. He gave her a good lesson on the organ to her great delight. Let her into the secret of stops, and pedals and swell, and told her she was the quickest scholar he had ever had; and yet he had taught quick pupils too. "That young man, Mr. Haveloc," he said, turning to Mr. Grey, "who had such a fancy for the organ; it was surprising how he improved in those few months he spent with you. What has become of him lately?" Mr. Grey said he believed he was on his road to England. Mr. Warde, who was seated at the organ, began to play the Kyrie of one of Mozart's Masses. Talking of Mr. Haveloc, he said, had put him in mind of it--it had been one of his favourite movements. He had a taste for the highest order of musical composition, that seemed to be very rare among Englishmen, indeed, Mr. Warde said, he had thought him full of fine qualities. "A mingled yarn," said Mr. Grey. "So we are all," said Mr. Warde, "so we are all." He glanced at Margaret as he spoke, and seeing her seated in one of the deep window seats, looking eagerly through a volume of Masses, he took it for granted that she was out of hearing, while she listened in breathless silence to every word of the conversation that followed. "And now that he has left Florence," said Mr. Warde, "I trust we may conclude that the influence of that designing woman has ceased." "No doubt," replied Mr. Grey, uneasily. He did not seem as if he liked referring to the subject, and he began to pull out the stops and put them in again, as if his thoughts were occupied by one engrossing topic. "How greatly the world fails in its measurement of a character like his," said Mr. Warde. "True--true," returned Mr. Grey. "Proud, susceptible, extreme in every thing, and easily deceived from the very integrity of his own nature. I can scarcely picture to myself a character more likely to become the dupe of an unprincipled woman; for while her vanity prompted her to make him her slave, he firmly believed that her heart was devoted to him, and a mistaken sense of justice impelled him to return her supposed regard." "You know that he did not elope with her," said Mr. Grey. "So I heard," replied Mr. Warde; "but it was said that the husband intercepted them." "Her tame husband," remarked Mr. Grey, "there was no duel." "Thank God for that!" said Mr. Warde, "matters were quite bad enough."