Mr. Kelton professed himself delighted. He was patronizingly polite in his reference to Miss Wadhurst’s “touch”--it was quite creditable, he said; occasionally it had reminded him of Wallace Clarke--it really had. Wallace Clarke was the very prince of accompanists; it was a pleasure to sing to his playing. But lest Miss Wadhurst should allow her head to be turned by his encomiums, Mr. Kelton very discreetly expressed the hope that she would spend the evening with the music, so that when the time came for her to accompany him in public she should be able to give all her attention to his singing, and not have to glance at the pages of the music before her. “Keep your eye on me,” he said. “I never bind myself down to sing a song twice in the same way--I trust to the inspiration of the moment. My accompanist must be prepared for anything.” “You must not be too hard on Miss Wadhurst,” said Mrs. Caffyn, smiling. “Oh, dear, no! you may trust me,” he said heartily. “I know Miss Wadhurst will trust me. By the way, Miss Wadhurst, I think I shall sing ‘The Message’ for the _encore_. I hope you know the accompaniment.” “I think I can manage it,” said Priscilla. “It is so good of you to promise us an _encore_,” cried Mrs. Caffyn, “and I am sure that Mrs. Bowlby-Sutherst will be delighted.” “I am always ready to comply with an _encore_,” said Mr. Kelton, “but I simply decline to respond when people _encore_ my _encore_. Please bear that in mind, Mrs. Caffyn. I cannot in justice to myself do more than respond to one _encore_, let that be clearly understood. No matter how enthusiastic your friends may become----” “I am going home. Are you coming, Priscilla?” cried Rosa Caffyn, breaking in on the cautionary remarks of the tenor with such abruptness as caused him to be startled, and put on his _pince-nez_ for the purpose of giving her a rebuking stare. But she was off before he had fallen into the right pose to obtain the best results, and Priscilla was only a pace behind her. “Did you ever hear such a bounder?” cried Rosa, before they were quite off the platform. “The idea of taking an _encore_--a double _encore_--for granted! Priscilla, I would give my second best hat to be sure that he did not get even the first _encore_.” “He knows that an _encore_ is a foregone conclusion: every one _encores_ the tenor,” said Priscilla, smiling queerly. “Still, it wouldn’t surprise me if for once-- “What are you grinning about in that way? Do you mean to get up a _claque_ to shout him down?” said Rosa, fancying that she saw some intelligence behind the smile of the other. “Goodness! Do you think that it would be possible to import the tactics of Italian opera into our peaceful village?” cried Priscilla. “Besides, how could any one prevent an _encore_ being given? It is easy enough to force one on, but how are you, short of hissing, to keep down the applause?” Rosa looked at her searchingly. “I don’t know, but I believe that you do,” she said.