"Damn your message! She's singin' to us!" "The Rose and Lily baith combine To make my Jeany fair; There is no Benison like mine, I have a'maist no care, But when another swain, my fair, Shall say 'You're fair to view,' Let Jeany whisper in his ear, 'Pray, what is that to you?'" There was loud applause. "I only sang it for Mr. Rock," said the Nun, relapsing into a demureness which had not consistently marked her rendering of the song. Released from Jack's imprisoning eye, the Bird darted to Andy and delivered his delayed message. "Mr. Harry--Andy, if you'd step into the street, sir--Andy, I mean--(the Bird was confused as to social distinctions)--he's waiting--and looking infernally put out!" "He wants me--outside? Why doesn't he come in? Well, I'll go." Andy rose to his feet. "You've fired his imagination!" remarked Gilly to the Nun. "He goes to seek adventures. Yet your song was that of a moralist." "A moralist somewhat too curious about a stocking," Billy opined. "Oh, well, I never think anything of a girl who lets her stockings get into wrinkles," the Nun observed, as she resumed her seat. "Do you, Jack?" Her eyes had followed Andy as he went out. To tell the truth, they had chanced to fall on him once or twice as she sang her song. But Andy had looked a little preoccupied; that fact had not made her sing worse--and at last Andy had gently drummed three fingers on the table. "You've a wonderful way of puttin' it, miss," said old Jack Rock. She laid her hand on his arm, saucily affectionate. "Pray what is that to you?" she asked. "I'm off, miss. Thank you kindly. It's been an evenin' for me!" She let him go, with the kindest of farewells. A salvo of applause from the company honoured his exit. She rested her chin in her hands, her elbows on the table. Jack Rock was to be heard saying his good-nights--merry chaff with old Dove, with the Bird, with Miss Miles. Why had Andy gone out--and Harry Belfield not come in? Billy Foot rose, moved round the table, and sat by her. "Where did you find it?" "In an old book a friend gave me." "I like it." Billy sounded quite convinced of the song's merit. "It has got a little bit of--of the feeling, hasn't it?" "The feeling which I've always understood you never felt?" She was securely evasive. "It's supposed to be a man who sings it, Billy." "That accounts for the foolishness of the sentiments?" "Makes them sound familiar, anyhow," said the Nun, preferring experience to theory. Andy came in. He went quickly to the Nun and bent down over her chair. "Harry's outside--with Miss Vintry. He wants to know if he may bring her in," he said, speaking very low. Surprise got the better of the Nun's discretion. Her voice was audible to them all, as she exclaimed: "Miss Vintry with him! At this time of night!" "I think perhaps--as we've finished supper--we'd better break up," said Andy, apologetically addressing the company.