"I suppose not," said the Colonel dryly. "A couple of violins will do. Here, my man, ask for a violin and viola." The military servant saluted and went out, and to fill up the time Major Rockley proposed a toast. "With bumpers, gentlemen. A toast that every man will drink. Are you ready?" There was a jingle of glasses, the gurgle of wine, and then a scattered volley of "Yes!" "Her bright eyes!" said the Major, closing his own and kissing his hand. "Her bright eyes!" cried everyone but the Adjutant, who growled out a malediction on somebody's eyes. Then the toast was drunk with three times three, there was the usual clattering of glasses as the gentlemen resumed their seats, and some of those who had paid most attention to the port began with tears in their eyes to expatiate on the charms of some special reigning beauty, receiving confidences of a like nature. Just then, the two instruments were brought and handed to the Colonel and Richard Linnell, a sneering titter going round the table, and a whisper about "fiddlers" making the latter flush angrily. "Yes, gentlemen, fiddlers," said Colonel Mellersh quietly; "and it requires no little skill to play so grand and old an instrument. I'll take my note from you, Dick." Flushing more deeply with annoyance, Richard Linnell drew his bow across the A string, bringing forth a sweet pure note that thrilled through the room, and made one of the glasses ring. "That's right," said the Colonel. "I wish your father were here. What's it to be?" "What you like," said Linnell, whose eyes were wandering about the table, as if in search of the man who would dare to laugh and call him "fiddler" again. "Something simple that we know." Linnell nodded. "Ready, gentlemen," said the Major, with a sneering look at Sir Harry Payne. "Silence, please, ye demons of the nether world. `Hark, the lute!' No: that's the wrong quotation. Now, Colonel--Mr Linnell, we are all attention." Richard Linnell felt as if he would have liked to box the Major's ears with the back of the violin he held; but, mastering his annoyance, he stood up, raised it to his shoulder, and drew the bow across the strings, playing in the most perfect time, and with the greatest expression, the first bars of a sweet old duet, the soft mellow viola taking up the seconds; and then, as the players forgot all present in the sweet harmony they were producing, the notes came pouring forth in trills, or sustained delicious, long-drawn passages from two fine instruments, handled by a couple of masters of their art.