When Miss Hayter had ceased playing, Lady Mitford crossed the room and shook hands with Miss Gillespie, offered her refreshment, thanked her very sweetly for the promptitude with which she had acceded to their request, and told her that Mrs. Hammond had already raised their expectation very high. Then Sir Charles Mitford came up somewhat stiffly, and offered his arm to Miss Gillespie and led her to the piano; and there, just removing her gloves, and without the smallest hesitation or affectation, she sat down, and with scarcely any prelude plunged at once into that most delightful of melodies, "Che faró senza Eurydice," from Glück's _Ofeo_. Ah, what a voice! clear, bell-like, thrilling, touching not merely the tympanum of the ear, but acting on the nerves and on the spinal vertebrae. What melody in it! what wondrous power! and as she poured out the refrain, "Eurydice, Eurydice!" what deep passionate tenderness! The company sat spell-bound; Lord Dollamore, an accomplished musician himself, and one who had heard the best music everywhere, sat nursing his knee and drinking-in every note. Laurence Alsager, rapt in admiration, had even been guilty of the discourtesy of turning his back on Miss Hayter, whose chatter began to annoy him, and was beating time with his head and hand. Tom Charteris had crept behind his wife, who, far too good a little woman to feel professional jealousy, was completely delighted; and the big tears were rolling down Lady Mitford's face. She was still a child, you see, and had not gone through the Clanronald furnace, where all tears are dried up for ever. When the song was ended, there came a volley of applause such as is seldom heard in drawing-rooms, and far different from the usual languid "Thank you," which crowns the failure of the amateur. Miss Gillespie looked round elated, as though the sound was pleasant and not unfamiliar to her, and was about to rise from her seat, when Laurence Alsager, who was nearest the piano, advanced, and begged she would remain--he was sure he spoke in the name of all present. So Miss Gillespie, after looking him hard in the face, made him a little bow, and remained at the piano, this time starting off into one of Louis Puget's charming French ballads, "Ta main," which she sung with as much fire and _chic_ as if she had never quitted Paris.