The bravura was followed by a duet, the duet by a violin solo, then one or two songs. With regard to the last of these, the miserable performer found her feelings quite too overpowering, and after some gurgling in the throat, and sniffing in her handkerchief, she collapsed into floods of tears, and was briskly hustled into the background and hidden behind the others, whilst, at a moment’s notice, Madeline West was commanded to take her place and step into the gap. Poor Madeline! It had not been intended that she should perform. She had no friends among the audience; no complacent relations to clap their hands and look proud and important. When the last words of “A Finland Love Song” had died away in silence--a silence caused by surprise and emotion--there was a pause of a full minute, and then a tremendous hurricane of applause burst forth. Ladies winked away unaccustomed tears, and clapped in a manner that was trying to their new ten-button gloves; their hearts were moved for the moment; some chord had been touched by that fresh young voice, by those sympathetic words, a chord that vibrated, and woke up old memories of the days when _they_ were young--those days so sad, so sweet, that were no more. The men encored tumultuously, not only because the singer had a lovely voice, and sang from her very heart, but--oh, well, because men will be men, and because the girl in black was uncommonly pretty. “Auld Robin Gray” was vociferously commanded, but the fair vocalist was adamant; she only curtseyed timidly, and curtseyed again. No one but herself had seen Miss Selina’s emphatic shake of the head, as she met her cold grey eye in that “little look across the crowd.” No, there was to be no encore. After the concert, the room was cleared for dancing, and Madeline took up her post at the best (the drawing-room) piano and played first a set of lancers, to set every one going, and to polish off the dowagers and duty dances, and then a waltz--and yet another waltz. It was very dull work for her. She was placed with her back to the company, and could neither see nor be seen--which was precisely what Miss Selina had intended; but the pretty singer was not to be so easily concealed. More than one would-be partner vainly begged for an introduction. More than one crafty young man pleaded _fatigue_, and halted long in the neighbourhood of the piano, where he could obtain a good view of the charming _pianiste_. After the third waltz, played by Madeline’s weary fingers, Mr. Wynne approached, and said, as she stood up selecting the next piece on the programme-- “Miss West, we have all to thank you for your capital playing,” holding out his hand as he spoke. “And now I hope you will give me the pleasure of this dance?” She touched his hand timidly, and shook her head. “Oh! I beg your pardon!” he exclaimed, with a quick glance at her black dress. “Let me, at least, take you to the tea-room. You must want some refreshment after your exertions.”