Jack whistled a flourish very softly. "Hark, Basil," whispered Barbara, looking up into his eyes. "Hark! The nightingale!" Jack whistled a little louder. "Do you think that is the nightingale, dearest?" ventured Basil. Jack whistled loud and impatiently. "At least let us make believe it is," murmured Barbara. Jack’s whistle rose to a screech. "My own one!" boomed Basil, in a voice like subdued but passionate thunder. Jack was just on the point of a despairing effort, when Madame’s door opened. He craned forward in the hope of seeing Marjolaine emerge, but had to withdraw swiftly, for Mrs. Poskett came down the steps, followed by Madame. "The air is so balmy, it’s a pity to stay indoors," Mrs. Poskett was saying. "We were just coming out," answered Madame. "Marjolaine is strangely restless." She had come down the steps and now saw Barbara and Basil in the window. She stopped astonished. "Ah—?—Why!—Really?—" "Yes!" cried Barbara, joyfully, clinging closer to Basil. "We are to be married at once! We are going to ask Doctor Sternroyd to get us a licence." "My own one!" Basil’s deep diapason reverberated through the night. "Oh! I am so very glad!" said Madame, in her most charming manner. But to Basil even this gentle congratulation seemed almost like a desecration. "Come in, my own," he throbbed, "lest the winds of heaven visit your face too roughly." "Ah!" sighed Barbara. What beautiful language he used, to be sure, and how different from Charles’s. Closely linked they sank back into the darkness of the room. "Well, I never!" said Mrs. Poskett, alluding to them. "I wonder who’ll be getting married next!" She and Madame came and sat under the elm. Marjolaine crept very cautiously down the steps. She was elaborately concealing something in the folds of her dress. She stole along the railings, watching her mother and Mrs. Poskett, till she got to Doctor Sternroyd’s gate. There she swiftly deposited two packages just inside the railing. Then she joined the others, looking as innocent as a lamb. Mrs. Poskett said simperingly, "I wanted you to be the first to hear of my betrothal." "I hope he’ll make you very happy," said Madame, cordially. "I ’ll see to that!" answered Mrs. Poskett; and her manner showed she meant it. "Isn’t it wonderful, Maman!" exclaimed Marjolaine. "An angel’s wing has touched Pomander Walk, and everybody’s going to be married!" "Yes, my poor child," said Madame, and held out her hand sympathetically to draw her daughter to her heart. But Marjolaine had turned away, and was singing! Actually singing! "In Scarlet Town—" she had begun. "Surely, you are not going to sing!" said Madame, almost reproachfully. "Let her, Ma’am," said Mrs. Poskett, "’t will keep her quiet." So Marjolaine stood between her mother and Doctor Sternroyd’s house, and sang. "In Scarlet Town, where I was born There was a fair Maid dwellin’—"