So, more out of listlessness than anything else, she, without being asked to do so, began to sing again. The song she chose this time was the same ballad she had sung that evening at Brighton at the Montmorris's, the evening on which she had met Mr Thurston. The words brought him to her mind. How had he found things at Wareborough? Was it as she had suspected between Beauchamp and Eugenia? Roma felt that she would give a good deal to know. That there was a change in Beauchamp, she was convinced, but of what nature, arising from what circumstances, she could not so easily decide, and she knew well he would do his best to keep her in the dark. Hardly taking in the sense of the words, she sang on half through the ballad. Her voice was more like itself by this time, and the music of the song was lovely: it was impossible for her not to sing it well. Gradually the murmur of the voices in the room grew fainter, then stopped altogether. As usual, when Roma exerted herself, all present succumbed to the charm. "She sings beautifully--I do not know that I have ever heard, an amateur to equal her," exclaimed Mrs Chancellor with the truthfulness of astonishment, turning round to Beauchamp when Miss Eyrecourt's round and soft, yet clear, thrilling notes died away into silence. But no Beauchamp was there! Even Mrs Chancellor's attractions had failed to keep him from his accustomed place. Looking up, at the end of her song, to her surprise, Roma saw him standing beside her. But there was an expression on his face which startled her. He looked grave and troubled, Roma could almost have fancied he had grown paler than usual. Something very strangely out of the common must have occurred to disturb his serenity so visibly; what could it be? "Roma," he said, suddenly, but as if he had completely forgotten the offence she had given him, "I wish you would oblige me by never singing that song. I cannot bear it." "Cannot bear it? Beauchamp! Your favourite song--the song you yourself got for me? What do you mean?" exclaimed Roma, in extreme astonishment. "Do I not sing it well?" "Far too well," he replied, gloomily. Then, as he turned away, he repeated his request more strongly. "I really cannot tell you how much you will oblige me by never singing it." "Very well, then, I will not," answered Roma, quietly. But in her heart she felt not a little puzzled by his unaccountable behaviour.