“I wish you’d just try over this thing with me, Miss Summerhayes. I want to have it perfect,” said Dolff. “Oh, please do give us a little respite, Dolff--we know all your songs by heart.” “I did not ask you,” said Dolff, with fraternal rudeness. “So do I know all your songs by heart--and Meredith’s--and I don’t think much of them. Besides, this is none of my old songs,” he said, with a little shyness. “It’s one Miss Summerhayes looked up for me, and I know you’ll like it, mother--something old and nice--not classical, which is not in my way----” “I should think not, indeed,” said Gussy, with scorn. “Or the other, which I used to like: but I don’t care for them now. Miss Summerhayes--oh,” he continued, rudely, “here’s that fellow; I suppose we shall have to give it up for to-night?” “There is no reason why you should give up, Dolff. You speak as if Charley--who has far more sense--would ever interfere with you.” “Oh, I know!” said Dolff, digging his hands into his pockets. He brought the song he had intended to sing to Janet, and standing behind her chair showed her how he had marked it in consonance with her teachings. “You said this was to be very _piano_” said Dolff, “it’s not how the stupid printers have done it, but I am sure you know best.” This appeal to her, though she felt it almost intolerable, carried Janet through the moment of Meredith’s entrance. Gussy rose to meet him, going forward a step involuntarily with the instinctive air of being the person most concerned. He shook hands with Janet as with the rest, pressing her hand as she hoped he did not press the others, till she had nearly cried out, and giving her a look under his eyebrows, which she felt to mean that he had received her communication. And then he sat down, and Dolff retreated, giving up to the superior influence. Meredith brought in with him a changed atmosphere altogether. The humdrum family routine, with all its little subdued oppositions and disagreements, but dull surface of unity, quickened into interest. He divided his smiling looks, his little flattering bantering speeches, among them all. “Well,” he said, “let’s talk of last night. I suppose that’s still uppermost in all our minds. I hope that you are all quite convinced that it was the greatest possible success.” “You know,” said Gussy, “we are not very sanguine people in this family. We are always seized with secret doubts afterwards whether all our friends were not making believe to enjoy themselves.” “I cannot say that is my frame of mind,” said her mother; “yes, I thought it went off very well. Everybody looked pleased; they ate a very good supper, and there was no getting them out of the house. I don’t at all think they were making believe.” “Ah, mamma, but you’re not quite a Harwood, as I often tell you.” “You are the best judge, Mrs. Harwood,” said Meredith, “for you look on and see the game. We are all so much engaged in thinking of our own parts that we never take in the whole.”