“Miss Summerhayes!” cried Gussy again. “My dear,” said Mrs. Harwood, “my daughter is calling you. I think you did not hear.” “Oh!” said Janet, and looked up as if she had heard for the first time; indeed, the force of her indignation gave her something of the feeling of one awakened from a dream. “Will you come here, please?” said Miss Harwood. Never before had there been between them the tone of command and obedience. Janet reflected to herself bitterly that she was supposed to know her place, and rose, but with a reluctance that anybody could see. This reluctance softened Gussy. She thought the other girl felt all the inappropriateness of being made the third between two---- “Please come and look at this accompaniment. I have never seen it before, and it seems difficult. Will you try it for us? You said you could play.” “Yes, I can play.” Janet went slowly towards the piano. He might make eyes as he chose, she would not see them. She looked at the music while Gussy rose and left the place for her. Easy? why, it was child’s play! “I will play it if you wish me to do so;” her fingers were crisp with impatience to get at the keys. “Oh, do, do, Miss Summerhayes! we are waiting for you. A new accompaniment and a new song at once are too much for anyone. Is that the proper height for you? is the light as you like it? Ah!” he said, with a deep breath, “that is something like; now, Gussy!” He took her hand to draw her to his side, and over Gussy’s colorless face there sprang anew that light as if it came through rose-leaves, through some ethereal medium, a light ineffable, which neither sunlight nor lamplight ever gave. Poor Gussy! this was the look which made her sister’s childish countenance lower, which was “silly,” which moved Janet to mingled ridicule, wrath, and shame. These young critics had no mercy. But as she stood by her lover’s side and sang, all unkindly thoughts and every little irritation went out of Gussy’s soul. She was the only one of them whose mind was in true harmony with the music; the others were better performers. She forgot that she had been displeased to have Janet called in. She touched the girl’s shoulder tenderly, gratefully with her hand; her heart went out in the song, though she was not so very certain about the notes. It was not at all with these beautiful emotions that Janet plunged into the mazes of the notes. She played with rage, with fury, beating down the man who had wounded her, helping out the tremulous soprano; and Meredith, roused to the conflict, sang against her, till he, too, excelled himself. It was like a musical duel, carried out to the last note with an intention which the two chief performers only were aware of; and Janet was ringing out the last symphony with her cheeks burning and her heart beating, when suddenly she sprang up from the piano and covered her face and her ears with her hands. “Oh, there it is!” she cried, “there it is again!”