“No. He never gave me a lesson. The fact is, Miss Lind, he was a capital man to teach stage tricks and traditional renderings of old operas; but only the exceptionally powerful voices survived his method of teaching. He would have finished my career as a singer in two months if he had troubled himself to teach me. Never go to Italy to learn singing.” “I fear you are a cynic. You ought either to believe in your father or else be silent about him.” “Why?” “Why! Surely we should hide the failings of those we love? I can understand now how your musical and electrical tastes became mixed up; but you should not confuse your duties. But please excuse me:” (Conolly’s eyes had opened a little wider) “I am lecturing you, without the least right to. It is a failing of mine which you must not mind.” “Not at all. Youve a right to your opinion. But the world would never get on if every practical man were to stand by his father’s mistakes. However, I brought it on myself by telling you a long story. This is the first opportunity I ever had of talking about myself to a lady, and I suppose I have abused it.” Marian laughed. “We had better stop apologizing to one another,” she said. “What about the accompaniments to our next songs?” Meanwhile Marmaduke and Miss McQuinch were becoming curious about Marian and Conolly. “I say, Nelly,” he whispered, “Marian and that young man seem to be getting on uncommonly well together. She looks sentimentally happy, and he seems pleased with himself. Dont you feel jealous?” “Jealous! Why should I be?” “Out of pure cussedness. Not that you care for the electric man, but because you hate any one to fall in love with any one else when you are by.” “I wish you would go away.” “Why? Dont you like me?” “I _loathe_ you. Now, perhaps you understand me.” “That’s a nice sort of thing to say to a fellow,” said Marmaduke, roused. “I have a great mind to bring you to your senses as Douglas does, by not speaking to you for a week.” “I wish you would let me come to my senses by not speaking to me at all.” “Oh! Well, I am off; but mind, Nelly, I am offended. We are no longer on speaking terms. Look as contemptuous as you please: you will be sorry when you think over this. Remember: you said you loathed me.” “So I do,” said Elinor, stubbornly. “Very good,” said Marmaduke, turning his back on her. Just then the concertinists returned from the platform, and a waiter appeared with refreshments, which the clergyman invited Marmaduke to assist him in dispensing. Conolly, considering the uncorking of bottles of soda water a sufficiently skilled labor to be more interesting than making small talk, went to the table and busied himself with the corkscrew. “Well, Nelly,” said Marian, drawing her chair close to Miss McQuinch, and speaking in a low voice, “what do you think of Jasper’s workman?” “Not much,” replied Elinor, shrugging her shoulders. “He is very conceited, and very coarse.”