“Indeed no! My only instructress was a nun in the Ursuline Convent in Jamaica. But I always loved it,” said the girl, as she ran over the strings of her mandoline in a merry little tarantelle, which made everyone in the room feel as if they had been bitten by the spider from which it took its name, and wanted above all other things to dance. How Pennell revelled in the music and the performer! How he longed to hear from her own lips that Ralph’s treatment had left no ill effects behind it. When she had ceased playing, he drew nearer to her, and under the cover of the Baroness’s conversation with Mr. Milliken and the Baron’s snores, they managed to exchange a few words. “How can I ever thank you enough for the treat you have given me!” he began. “I am very glad that you liked it!” “I was not prepared to hear such rare talent! My experience of young ladies’ playing and singing has not hitherto been happy. But you have great genius. Did you ever sing to Mrs. Pullen whilst in Heyst?” “Once or twice.” “And to my cousin, Ralph Pullen?” “Yes!” “I cannot understand his having treated the Baroness with such scant courtesy. And you also, who had been kind enough to allow him to enjoy your society. You would not have found me so ungrateful. But you have heard doubtless that he is going to be married shortly!” “Yes! I have heard it!” “And that has, I suppose, put everything else out of his head! Perhaps it may be as well, especially for his future wife. There are some things which are dangerous for men to remember--such as your lovely voice, for example!” “Do you think so?” Harriet fixed her dark eyes on him, as she put the question. “I am sure it will be dangerous for me, unless you will give me leave to come and hear it again. I shall not be able to sleep for thinking of it. Do you think the Baroness will be so good as to enrol me as a visitor to the house?” “You had better ask her!” “And if she consents, will you sing to me sometimes?” “I am always singing or playing! There is nothing else to do here. The Baron and Baroness are almost always out, and I have no company but that of Bobby and Miss Wynward. It is terribly dull, I can tell you. I am longing to get away, but I do not know where to go.” “Have you no friends in England?” “Not one, except Mr. Tarver, who is my solicitor!” “That sounds very grim. If you will let me count myself amongst your friends, I shall be so grateful.” “I should like it very much! I am not so ignorant as not to have heard your name and to know that you are a celebrated man. But I am afraid I shall prove a very stupid friend for you.” “I have no such fear, and if I may come and see you sometimes, I shall count myself a very happy man.” “I am generally alone in the afternoon,” replied Miss Brandt, sophistically. In another minute Mr. Pennell was saying good-night to his hostess and asking her permission to repeat his visit at some future time.