Hope played, and sang, and instructed--gave leads, banged insistently upon notes which the singers rendered flat instead of sharp, and even finished a tenor solo which had hopelessly come to grief--until hand and voice and head alike ached with fatigue; but still the insatiable chorus clamoured for more, remembering another and another favourite which it would be a sin to leave untried. "You are tired," said a low voice in her ear. "You shall not play any longer;" and before she had time to protest, Ralph Merrilies had risen from his seat and closed the book with a determined hand. "It is nearly eleven o'clock. Do you realise how long you have kept Miss Charrington? She has surely earned a rest. Do come and sit down, Miss Charrington; your back must need support." "Better come upstairs with me, Hope. I am just going," said Avice, rising from the sofa and slipping her hand through her cousin's arm. The singers, contrite at their own lack of consideration, busied themselves putting away the music, and gathered into little groups round the piano, so that Mr Merrilies and the two girls were alone in their corner, and their conversation was not overheard. "I am afraid we have been very selfish," he said, looking at Hope's tired face; "but the music has been such a pleasure that we have gone on and on without noticing the time, and Miss Charrington was too good-natured to remind us that she was growing tired." "Hope never thinks of herself," said Avice quietly; and the colour flamed into Hope's white cheeks and her blue eyes brightened with pleasure at this unexpected tribute. Avice--Avice the languid, the undemonstrative--to praise her aloud, and in company! She was too much taken aback to protest in the conventional way, but she noticed that Mr Merrilies looked even more pleased than herself. He smiled at Avice with a new interest in his eyes, and said quickly: "In that case it is our duty to look after her. I should suggest fresh air in the first place. How is it that she never joins us at our out-of-door luncheons?" "She stays at home to help mother; but she shall come to-morrow. I will bring her," replied Avice in a voice that for once was not languid, but quite brisk and decided. Wonders would never cease! Could it be that friendship for a girl of her own age was about to rouse the listless Avice to an active interest in the life which was going on around her! CHAPTER TWELVE. A SHOOTING LUNCHEON.