When the visitors had left, and Lady Brand had gone to the nursery, she walked over to the piano, sat down, and softly played the accompaniment of "The Rosary." The fine unexpected chords, full of discords working into harmony, seemed to suit her mood and her memories.
Suddenly a voice behind her said: "Sing it, Jane." She turned quickly.
The doctor had come in, and was lying back luxuriously in a large arm-chair at her elbow, his hands clasped behind his head.

"Sing it, Jane," he said.
"I can't, Deryck," she answered, still softly sounding the chords.

"I have not sung for months." "What has been the matter--for months ?" Jane took her hands off the keys, and swung round impulsively.
"Oh, boy," she said.

"I have made a bad mess of my life! And yet I know I did right.

I would do the same again; at least--at least, I hope I would." The doctor sat in silence for a minute, looking at her and pondering these short, quick sentences.