Bayle felt as if he would give anything to be able to retreat; and just then he caught Mrs Trampleasure's eyes as she signalled him to come to her side. "She told me she did not like music," he said to himself; and he was yielding to his fate, and going to have the cup of his misery filled to the brim when he caught Hallam's eye. Hallam was by the chimney-piece, talking to Mr Trampleasure about bank matters; but that look seemed so full of triumphant contempt, that Bayle drew his breath as if in pain, and turned to reach the door. "It was very kind of you to sing when I asked you, Mr Bayle," said that sweet low voice that thrilled him; and he turned hastily, seeing again Hallam's sneering look, or the glance that he so read. "I cannot sing," he replied with boyish petulance. "It was absurd to attempt it. I have only made myself ridiculous." "Pray do not say that," said Millicent kindly. "You give me pain. I feel as if it is my fault, and that I have spoiled your evening." "I--I have had no practice," he faltered. "But you love music. You have a good voice. You must come and try over a few songs and duets with me." He looked at her half-wonderingly, and then moved by perhaps a youthful but natural desire to redeem himself, he said hastily: "I can--play a little--the flute." "But you have not brought it?" "Yes," he said hastily. "Will you play an accompaniment? Anything, say one of Henry Bishop's songs or duets." Millicent sighed, for she felt regret, but she concealed her chagrin, and said quietly, "Certainly, Mr Bayle;" and they walked together to the piano. "Bravo!" cried Sir Gordon. "No one need be told that Mr Bayle is an Englishman." There was a rather uncomfortable silence as, more and more feeling pity and sympathy for their visitor, Millicent began to turn over a volume of bound up music, while, with trembling hands, Bayle drew his quaint boxwood flute with its brass keys and ivory mounts from its case. It was a wonderfully different instrument from one of those cocoa-wood or metal flutes of the present day, every hole of which is stopped not with the fingers but with keys. This was an old-fashioned affair, in four pieces, which had to be moistened at the joints when they were stuck together, and all this business the Reverend Christie Bayle went through mechanically, for his eyes were fixed upon the music Millicent was turning over. "Let's try that," he said suddenly, in a voice tremulous with eagerness, as she turned over leaf after leaf, hesitating at two or three songs--"Robin Adair," "Ye Banks and Braes," and another--easy melodies, such as a flute player could be expected to get through. But though she had given him plenty of time to choose either of these, he let her turn over, and went on wetting the flute joints, and screwing them up till she arrived at "I Know a Bank."