“Then, Miss Despard,” said Rollo, springing to his feet; “if your--friend is in this condition of doubt, it is impossible she can ever have heard you; will you not gratify me and convince her by singing something now? I know it is horrible impertinence on my part, so recent an acquaintance. But--no, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, you never can have heard her. I have some songs here that I know you would sing to perfection. I deserve to be ordered out of the house for my presumption. I know it; but----” and he clasped his hands and fixed supplicating eyes upon Lottie, who, blushing, trembling, frightened, and happy, did not know how to meet those eyes. “Sure he’ll be down on his knees next,” cried Mrs. O’Shaughnessy delighted; “and you wouldn’t have the heart to deny the gentleman when he begs so pretty. I’ll not say but what I’ve heard her, and heard her many a time, but maybe the change of the circumstances and the want of Rowley will make a difference. Come, Lottie, me darling, don’t wait for pressing, but give us a song, and let us be done with it. If it was a good song you would sing, and not one of those sacred pieces that make me feel myself in the Abbey--where we all are, saving your presence, often enough----” “I have a song here that will please you, I know,” said Rollo. “We shall have you crying in two minutes. You don’t know, my dear Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, what a glorious organ you are talking of.” “Organ! that’s the Abbey all over; but, praised be Heaven, there’s no organ here, only an old cracked piano----” “Oh, indeed,” cried Lottie. “It is not fit to play on, and I don’t think I can sing at sight; and--I know I can’t play an accompaniment.” “That shall be my happy office,” he said, looking at her with those eyes that dazzled Lottie. They were not dazzling by nature, but he put a great deal of meaning into them, and Lottie, foolish Lottie, innocently deceived, put a great deal more. Her eyes sank beneath this look. She could scarcely keep the tears from coming into them, tears of confused pleasure and wonder and happiness; and she could not refuse him what he asked. He opened the wretched old piano, worn out and jingling, and out of tune as it was. And Mrs. O’Shaughnessy put her knees a little more apart, and threw her bonnet-strings over her shoulders, and spread out her warm hands in her lap. There was a little good-humoured cynicism in her face. She did not expect to enjoy the singing, but all her faculties were moved by the hint, the scent, of a flirtation; and that she was prepared to enjoy to the full. CHAPTER X. THE MINOR CANON.