It is a wise child who knows his own father, and I am wise enough to know my own ignorance.

Don't you know," with a smile, "it is easier to hold one's tongue and listen in an intelligent manner than flounder about out of one's depth among the billows of cuneiform inscriptions and the insurmountable precipice of the Behistun Rock." "Why do you undervalue yourself so ?" returned Elizabeth gently; "don't you know people take us at our own value?
I have got it into my head that you and Mr.Herrick do not quite take to each other--woman's eyes are rather sharp, you know." But Mr.Carlyon turned this off with a laugh.
"Oh, we hit it off all right," he replied; "please don't go and take fancies in your head.

He has his innings now, but we got the best of him this afternoon." Elizabeth's merry answering laugh reached Malcolm's ears, and made him lose the drift of the vicar's argument.
But he lost it still more, and became increasingly absent-minded, when a few minutes later he heard her rich, full tones in his favourite song, "Loving, yet leaving." Mr.Charrington noticed it at last.

"The siren is too much for you, Mr.Herrick," he said pleasantly; "we will resume our discussion another time," and to this Malcolm cheerfully assented.
Did Elizabeth perceive the dark figure that glided in at the open window and settled itself so comfortably in the easy-chair?
If she were conscious of the silent auditor, she made no sign.
Never had her voice been sweeter and truer; never had she sung with such birdlike clearness, with such abandon and pleasure.

Now and then a whispered word from David made her exchange one song for another, or a low-toned "bravo" from the same source greeted some special favourite.
Elizabeth was in the mood for singing.