“Our songster has forsaken us,” said Meredith; “but it was very good while it lasted. Dolff has a great deal of expression, Mrs. Harwood. You may not like that sort of thing, which is not exactly, as he said, adapted for drawing-rooms, but he does it very well; not quite so well as before Miss Summerhayes converted him, but still well enough. It seems to me, Gussy, as if the conversion was not going on----” “Indeed, I don’t at all know what you refer to,” said Mrs. Harwood; “nor how my son wanted conversion, Charley--and by Miss Summerhayes.” “I only meant musically,” said the patient, with a little air of languor. He added, “I have laughed too much. It is a pleasant way of exhaustion, but it is exhaustion all the same.” “I was afraid it would be too much for you,” cried the ever-anxious Gussy; “you over-estimate your strength. Lay back your head, dear Charley, and perhaps you will get a little sleep.” “I take great liberties with you all,” he said, “but not so much as to go to sleep in your mother’s drawing-room, Gussy.” “Oh, my dear boy, don’t think of that,” said Mrs. Harwood, at once forgetting his offence before this exhibition of weakness. “You are spoiling me,” he said, half closing his eyes. “How am I ever to go out into the world again after all this coddling?” “Ask Miss Summerhayes to play one of those nocturnes she plays so well: that will do as well as sleep,” said Gussy. He put out his hand for hers, drawing it beneath the rug that covered him. Gussy’s countenance beamed with a mild rapture as she sat close by the couch with her hand in his. It was pleasant to this luxurious person to hold in his--whoever the owner of it might be--a woman’s hand.