“I beg your pardon. Go on.” “Oh no, it wasn’t anything.” “Please say what you were going to say--” “Please--” Sallie Ambrey laughed, but the others were all in painful earnest. “It really isn’t worth saying,” Captain Patch truthfully remarked. “I was only going to ask if anyone had seen the eclipse yesterday. There was supposed to be an eclipse, I believe.” No one seemed to have known or cared about this phenomenon, and after it had been briefly dismissed from life, there was another silence. “How is Mr. Carey?” “He’s had some quite good days, lately, and he’s really wonderful, considering.” “Hullo, a moth!” “How still it is, to-night, isn’t it?” “Mrs. Harter, do you sing a great deal?” It was all very disconnected, and spasmodic and embarrassing. Mrs. Fazackerly felt that never would these six people unite in singing “My old Kentucky Home” and “Swanee River” as she had intended them to do. The presence of Mrs. Harter, and her ungracious self-consciousness, were making havoc of the party. It was red-headed Captain Patch who saved the situation. He boldly went over to the piano and threw it open. “Mrs. Harter, we’ve wanted to hear ‘The Bluebells of Scotland’ again ever since the concert. May we all join in the chorus?” Without waiting for any reply, he began to play, with one finger, and the others thankfully took up the well-known air. After that there was no more constraint, and Captain Patch made Mrs. Fazackerly take his place as accompanist and stood behind the rest of the group, and eventually went away and returned carrying a laden coffee-tray. Presently there was a great deal of cigarette smoke in the room, and a great deal of talk and laughter. Mrs. Harter looked quite different. “Thank goodness, it’s going to be a success after all,” Mrs. Fazackerly thought. She had an absurd feeling that the rescuing of her party from failure was a good omen for the future. It was past twelve o’clock when the Ambreys went home in Christopher’s small car, and Captain Patch escorted Mrs. Harter to the narrow house in Queen Street where she was living in rooms. “Good-by. Let’s do it again soon,” cried Sallie. “Why don’t we all meet this day week at our house and sing some more?” “Let’s,” said Christopher. “Mrs. Harter, can you?” “Thanks very much.” “About half-past eight then, all of us. I’ll look up some part-songs and things. Good-night.” The car moved away. * * * * * Captain Patch escorted Mrs. Harter to the house in Queen Street....