“Better a reserved man who can do something than a sulky one who can do nothing,” she said, glancing at the tall man, with whom the clergyman was nervously striving to converse. “Exquisite melody, is it not, Mr. Douglas?” said Mrs. Fairfax, coming to the clergyman’s rescue. “I do not care for music,” said Douglas. “I lack the maudlin disposition in which the taste usually thrives.” Miss McQuinch gave an expressive snap, but said nothing; and the conversation dropped until Miss Lind had sung her song, and received a round of respectful but not enthusiastic applause. “Thank you, Mr. Conolly,” she said, as she left the platform. “I am afraid that Spohr’s music is too good for the people here. Dont you think so?” “Not a bit of it,” replied Conolly. “There is nothing so very particular in Spohr. But he requires very good singing—better than he is worth.” Miss Lind colored, and returned in silence to her seat beside Miss McQuinch, feeling that she had exposed herself to a remark that no gentleman would have made. “Now then, Nelly,” said Marmaduke: “the parson is going to call time. Keep up your courage. Come, get up, get up.” “Do not be so boisterous, Duke,” said Marian. “It is bad enough to have to face an audience without being ridiculed beforehand.” “Marian,” said Marmaduke, “if you think Nelly will hammer a love of music into the British workman, you err. Lots of them get their living by hammering, and they will most likely resent feminine competition. Bang! There she goes. Pity the sorrows of a poor old piano, and let us hope its trembling limbs wont come through the floor.” “Really, Marmaduke,” said Marian, impatiently, “you are excessively foolish. You are like a boy fresh from school.” Marmaduke, taken aback by her sharp tone, gave a long whispered whistle, and pretended to hide under the table. He had a certain gift of drollery which made it difficult not to laugh even at his most foolish antics, and Marian was giving way in spite of herself when she found Douglas bending over her and saying, in a low voice: “You are tired of this place. The room is very draughty: I fear it will give you cold. Let me drive you home now. An apology can be made for whatever else you are supposed to do for these people. Let me get your cloak and call a cab.” Marian laughed. “Thank you, Sholto,” she said; “but I assure you I am quite happy. Pray do not look offended because I am not so uncomfortable as you think I ought to be.” “I am glad you are happy,” said Douglas in his former cold tone. “Perhaps my presence is rather a drawback to your enjoyment than otherwise.” “I told you not to come, Sholto; but you would. Why not adapt yourself to the circumstances, and be agreeable?” “I am not conscious of being disagreeable.” “I did not mean that. Only I do not like to see you making an enemy of every one in the room, and forcing me to say things that I know must hurt you.”