"I can sing 'Annie Laurie'." "Nothing could be better. It is a general favorite. Won't you sing it to-night?" "But I cannot sing without an accompaniment," she said, shyly. "I am not much of a musician, but I can play that." With a little more persuasion I induced her to sing. She had a pleasant voice, and while I cannot claim for her anything out of the common on the score of musical talent, she rendered the song fairly well. All seemed to enjoy it, except Mrs. Wyman, who said, in a sneering tone: "That song is old as the hills." "It may be so," I retorted, "but the best songs are old." "It was very good," said the Count, who really seemed pleased. This seemed to annoy the widow. "You are very good-natured, Count, to compliment such a rustic performance," she said. "But, signora, I mean it." "Well, let it pass! She did her best, poor thing!" "She is a nice girl." "Oh, Count, she is only a young woman from Macy's. She was born in the country, and raised among cabbages and turnips." He seemed puzzled, but evidently regarded Ruth with favor. Meanwhile, Prof. Poppendorf had listened attentively to the song of the maiden on whom he had fixed his choice. "Mees Ruth, you sing beautiful!" he said. Ruth Canby smiled. "You are very kind, Prof. Poppendorf," she said, gratefully. "I like your singing much better than Mrs. Wyman's." "No. You mustn't say that. She sings airs from the opera." "I like better your leetle song." By this time Mrs. Wyman had succeeded in extracting a promise from the Count to sing. "Dr. Fenwick," she said, "can't you play the accompaniment for the Count?" "What is the song?" "'Sweet Marie'." "I will do my best. I am not professional." So I played and the Count sang. He had a pleasant, sympathetic voice, and we were pleased with his singing. "Oh, how charming, Count!" said Mrs. Wyman; "I shall never dare to sing before you again." "Why not, signora." "Because you are such a musical artist." "Oh, no, no, signora!" he said, deprecatingly. He was persuaded to sing again, and again he pleased his small audience. "Miss Blagden, won't you favor us with a song?" asked Mrs. Wyman, in a tone of mockery. "Thank you," said the Disagreeable Woman, dryly. "There is so much musical talent here, that I won't undertake to compete with those who possess it." "Prof. Poppendorf, don't you ever sing?" asked the widow, audaciously. "I used to sing when I was young," answered the Professor, unexpectedly. "Then _do_ favor us!" He seated himself at the piano, and sang a German drinking song, such as in days gone by he had sung with Bismarck and his old comrades at the university. There was a rough vigor in his performance that was not unpleasant. No one was more surprised than Mrs. Wyman at the outcome of what she had meant as a joke. "Really, Professor," said the Disagreeable Woman, "you are more accomplished than I supposed. I like your song better than I did your lecture."