It was just at this moment, while she was still uncertain whether she could get these tears swallowed or whether they must fall, betraying her, that she was aware of some one at her elbow. “I think we shall have rain, Miss Despard,” said a deliberate voice; “do you not think we shall have rain? The summer has been so fine that we have no right to grumble. You were the one lady in all St. Michael’s whom I most wanted to see.” “I, Signor? I do not know what you should want with me,” said Lottie, forced by circumstances into rudeness. She did not want to be rude, but the shock of his sudden address had brought down that shower, falling like drops of a thunderstorm, and she would not turn round to show him her wet eyes. He smiled a little to himself at this petulance, and that was all. He was used to waywardness in young ladies. He was a spare, olive-coloured man, not tall, but wiry and close-knit. He had all the aspect of an Italian and the name; but he was not really an Italian, being an Englishman born, a good Tory and a good Churchman, and all that the organist of St. Michael’s ought to be. But he was not disinclined to keep up a mystery on this score, having a little love of mystery by nature, and feeling, musically, that his foreign name and looks were in his favour. How far back the Signor had to go for his claim to be considered an Italian, nobody knew, but everybody (except the perverse and disagreeable, who would occasionally say Mr. Rossinetti to annoy him) called the musician the Signor. His complexion, his moustache, the wonderful dark eyes, which were the chief feature in his face, were all of Southern origin; and he spoke with a curious deliberation and clear pronunciation of every syllable, which almost looked as if, at one time, there had been difficulties about the language, and as if he had not courage even yet to take any liberties with it. But his accent was as good English as could be desired; and in respect to this as well as to all other questions about his origin the community of St. Michael’s were entirely in the dark, as he intended them to be. “This event,” said the Signor, in his clear slow voice, “will bring our little societies, our practisings, to an end, Miss Despard. We were getting on very well. I am sorry to come to an end of anything, and of these above all.” “Yes, I suppose so,” said Lottie, drearily. “Will it, do you think? She had not very much of a voice.” “No; but there are other things besides voice. You have a very beautiful voice, Miss Despard.” “But I have nothing else,” said Lottie, forgetting her precautions and turning quickly upon him; “that is what you mean to say? And you never even allowed before that I had a voice.”