“No, you did first rate,—only flatted a little when you struck that high G, made a dive at it as if you were afraid you would miss it,” was Miss Hansford’s response, and not all the praises she had received pleased Elithe half as much as her aunt’s commendation and the fact that she had left her own church on purpose to hear her sing. After this they spoke of Jack Percy, Miss Hansford narrating a good many incidents of his boyhood which she had treasured against him. Elithe had heard some of them before, but now, with his presence in the town and his abuse of Paul, they assumed a new interest, and while struggling with the plagues of Egypt later in her room thoughts of Jack Percy kept recurring to her mind with great persistence, and he became frightfully mixed with Moses and Aaron and other actors in that far-off drama. If she succeeded in driving Jack from her mind other distracting thoughts crept in. Sails on the water, skating in the rink, games in the tennis court, and, worst of all, that waltz by moonlight when Paul Ralston’s arm was around her. That bothered her the most. “It’s the evil one himself tempting me,” she thought, and said aloud with a jerk of her shoulder, “Get thee behind me, Satan.” But he kept himself in the foreground until she had nearly waded through the plagues. Then she heard Paul speaking to the young men on the steps, and, glancing from her window, saw him as he passed under it. “Ahem,” she said involuntarily, and, looking up, Paul saw her and touched his hat. “You weren’t in church to hear me sing. Auntie was there, and says I flatted on high G. I told you I couldn’t strike it square.” Paul was not in a mood for joking, but he could not resist the bright face confronting him, and he answered laughingly, “I don’t believe you flatted. Your auntie is a little deaf. I’m sure you sang beautifully. Am sorry I could not hear you.” “So am I, but more sorry for the trouble which kept you away. We are all so indignant. It was too bad about your solo. Ever so many were there to hear it. Poor old Mr. Turner took it and quavered and floundered and finally broke down. It was too funny for anything. Mr. Percy was there, too, they say. Couldn’t have liked my solo very well. Got up to go out, but the sexton frowned him back. I had just a glimpse of the wretch.” She might have talked longer if Paul had not cut her short by saying, “He _is_ a wretch, and I am looking for him, so excuse me if I do not stop any longer. I don’t believe you flatted on that G.”