"Oh no--he'll be all right soon--I think it's overwork," said Una hastily, anxious to avoid any discussion of the doctor's complaint, the cause of which she, with her feminine shrewdness, half guessed. "Cecilia, will you play something?" The blind girl assented, and was led by Una to the quaint old spinet which stood in the corner. With the true feelings of an artist Cecilia did not play anything noisy on the delicate instrument, but a dainty old gavotte which sounded faint and clear like the sound of a silver bell. All the company were charmed with the delicacy of the music except Miss Cassy and Mrs. Larcher who were conversing about dress. "I hope you like mine," observed Miss Cassy, looking at the gown she wore, which was of white muslin dotted with pink bows. "I was afraid I'd make it dabby--I'm afraid I have made it dabby--do you think so?" Mrs. Larcher eyed the production of Miss Cassy's artistic nature with a critical eye, and pronounced her opinion that it was dabby, thus reducing poor Miss Cassy to the verge of tears. When Cecilia finished the gavotte all present urged her to play something else. "It's like fairy music," said Beaumont. "I love to hear those old airs of Purcell and Arne played upon such an instrument. It's so thoroughly in keeping with the idea. The lyrics in 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' set to the old-fashioned music and played on a spinet, gives one a charming idea of the court of Oberon and Titania." "And Miss Mosser plays so charmingly," said Reginald, gaily. "'O testudinis aureæ Dulcem quæ strepitum Pieri temperas,'" quoted the vicar, in his rolling bass. "I prefer the sweet harmony of the spinet to the lyre," said Beaumont, smiling. "Dear me, vicar," observed Mrs. Larcher angrily. "I wish you wouldn't be always talking Latin. No one understands it." "That's hardly a compliment to the gentlemen present, my dear," said Dr. Larcher in his most stately manner, "but, as Horace says, 'Oh, mater pulchra'----I beg your pardon, I will refrain from the bard." "Now, Mr. Blake, I want you to sing something," said Una, crossing over to Pumpkin. "Certainly--some old English melody, I suppose, to match the spinet. 'Phyllida flouts me,' or 'Mistress mine where are you roaming?'" "Let us have them both," said Beaumont, lazily. "Very likely the ghosts of the old Elizabethan lyrists will come and listen." "You'll see a real ghost shortly," said Una mysteriously, as she and Pumpkin, after a whispered consultation, moved to the door. "The ghost of whom?" asked Reginald, who was standing by the spinet. "Lady Betty Modish or Sophia Western--which ever you like--town or country," replied Una, laughing, and thereupon vanished with Miss Larcher. "What does she mean?" demanded the vicar in astonishment. "Something very odd," said Miss Cassy, shaking her girlish head. "Yes, quite like a play. The School for what's-it's-name. Sheridan, you know--quite lovely."