Mr. Granger, who had been waiting for this moment, was only too happy. He knew but one song, and had sung it dozens of times in that very room. It was natural to suppose that he knew it by heart. All the same he produced his music, and read the words as he sang. Margery played his accompaniment without looking at the notes. She was as familiar with them as she was with the moment when Mr. Granger's voice would crack. This night he cracked as usual, apologized as usual, and his hearers accepted the apology as usual, so it was all very pleasant. "'The Death of Nelson,'" said Granger, "is a difficult song to sing when the singer is not in voice. The fog, you know----" "Quite so," murmured Train, politely. "Do you know 'Will-o-the-Wisp,' Mr. Granger?" Mr. Granger did not, much to his regret, and Mr. Harmer joined in the conversation. "Now there's a song," said he--"'Will-o-the-Wisp.' I knew a man who could bring the roof down with that song. Such lungs!" "I don't love that loud shouting, myself," said Mrs. Taine in her fat voice. "Give me something soft and low, like 'My Pretty Jane!'" "Ah! you should have heard Sims Reeves sing it," said Harmer. "I have heard him," said Leonard, to whom the remark was addressed. Harmer was annoyed. "Perhaps you have heard Grisi and Mario also?" "No, sir. But my grandfather did." "Probably," said Harmer, glancing at his fresh face and bald head in a near mirror. "I was a mere child myself when I heard them. Do you know much about music, Mr. Train?" "I have heard it a good deal talked about," replied Leonard, with the air of saying something clever. "And great rubbish they talk," put in Mrs. Taine, smoothing one hand over the other. "In my young days we talked of Wagner and Weber. Now it is all Vagner and Veber--such affectation." "Ah! manners are not what they used to be," sighed another old lady, who prided herself on her straight back and clear eyesight. "Nor singers," said Mr. Granger. "There are no voices nowadays, none." "What about Calve and Melba?" asked Leonard. "Those are foreigners," said Mr. Granger, getting out of the difficulty. "I speak of our native talent, sir." "Melba comes from Australia." "She is not English--a foreigner, I tell you. Don't talk to me, sir." Mr. Granger was becoming restive at being thus contradicted, and privately thought Leonard an impertinent young man. Madame, seeing that the old gentleman was ruffled, hastily intervened. "If Mrs. Taine will play us the 'Canary Bird Quadrilles' how pleased we shall be." Mrs. Taine obliged, and Harmer hung over the piano, quite enraptured at these airs which recalled his hot youth. Afterward he begged for the "Mabel Waltz." Meantime Margery was sitting in the corner with Miss Bull, and both were engrossed with "Patience." Madame, under cover of the music, talked with Train. "You mustn't mind the guests," she said; "they are old and require to be humored."