Do you sing, Mr.Alonzo ?' 'Poorly,' the young gentleman replied.
'But the Count can sing, and Chloe's a real angel when she sings; and won't you, dear ?' she implored Chloe, to whom Caseldy addressed a prelude with a bow and a flourish of the hand.
Chloe's voice flew forth.

Caseldy's rich masculine matched it.

The song was gay; he snapped his finger at intervals in foreign style, singing big-chested, with full notes and a fine abandonment, and the quickest susceptibility to his fair companion's cunning modulations, and an eye for Duchess Susan's rapture.
Mr.Beamish and Mr.Camwell applauded them.
'I never can tell what to say when I'm brimming'; the duchess let fall a sigh.

'And he can play the flute, Mr.Beamish.He promised me he would go into the orchestra and play a bit at one of your nice evening delicious concerts, and that will be nice--Oh!' 'He promised you, madam, did he so ?' said the beau.

'Was it on your way to the Wells that he promised you ?' 'On my way to the Wells!' she exclaimed softly.