The singing went on upstairs. Major Fitz-David still waited impenetrably to hear what I had to say--to know what I resolved on doing next. Before I had decided what to say or what to do, another domestic incident happened. In plain words, another knocking announced a new visitor at the house door. On this occasion there was no rustling of a woman’s dress in the hall. On this occasion only the old servant entered the room, carrying a magnificent nosegay in his hand. “With Lady Clarinda’s kind regards. To remind Major Fitz-David of his appointment.” Another lady! This time a lady with a title. A great lady who sent her flowers and her messages without condescending to concealment. The Major--first apologizing to me--wrote a few lines of acknowledgment, and sent them out to the messenger. When the door was closed again he carefully selected one of the choicest flowers in the nosegay. “May I ask,” he said, presenting the flower to me with his best grace, “whether you now understand the delicate position in which I am placed between your husband and yourself?” The little interruption caused by the appearance of the nosegay had given a new impulse to my thoughts, and had thus helped, in some degree, to restore me to myself. I was able at last to satisfy Major Fitz-David that his considerate and courteous explanation had not been thrown away upon me. “I thank you, most sincerely, Major,” I said “You have convinced me that I must not ask you to forget, on my account, the promise which you have given to my husband. It is a sacred promise, which I too am bound to respect--I quite understand that.” The Major drew a long breath of relief, and patted me on the shoulder in high approval of what I had said to him. “Admirably expressed!” he rejoined, recovering his light-hearted looks and his lover-like ways all in a moment. “My dear lady, you have the gift of sympathy; you see exactly how I am situated. Do you know, you remind me of my charming Lady Clarinda. _She_ has the gift of sympathy, and sees exactly how I am situated. I should so enjoy introducing you to each other,” said the Major, plunging his long nose ecstatically into Lady Clarinda’s flowers. I had my end still to gain; and, being (as you will have discovered by this time) the most obstinate of living women, I still kept that end in view. “I shall be delighted to meet Lady Clarinda,” I replied. “In the meantime--” “I will get up a little dinner,” proceeded the Major, with a burst of enthusiasm. “You and I and Lady Clarinda. Our young prima donna shall come in the evening, and sing to us. Suppose we draw out the _menu?_ My sweet friend, what is your favorite autumn soup?” “In the meantime,” I persisted, “to return to what we were speaking of just now--” The Major’s smile vanished; the Major’s hand dropped the pen destined to immortalize the name of my favorite autumn soup. “_Must_ we return to that?” he asked, piteously. “Only for a moment,” I said.