For Juliet was having a lesson of the severest kind, in which she accepted every lightest hint with the most heedful attention, and conformed thereto with the sweetest obedience; whence it came that Faber, the next moment after fancying he had screwed his temper to stoic pitch, found himself passing from displeasure to indignation, and thence almost to fury, as again and again some exquisite tone, that went thrilling through all his being, discovering to him depths and recesses hitherto unimagined, was unceremoniously, or with briefest apology, cut short for the sake of some suggestion from Helen.

Whether such suggestion was right or wrong, was to Faber not of the smallest consequence: it was in itself a sacrilege, a breaking into the house of life, a causing of that to cease whose very being was its justification.

Mrs.Wingfold! she was not fit to sing in the same chorus with her! Juliet was altogether out of sight of her.

He had heard Mrs.
Wingfold sing many a time, and she could no more bring out a note like one of those she was daring to criticise, than a cat could emulate a thrush! "Ah, Mr.Faber!--I did not know you were there," said Helen at length, and rose.

"We were so busy we never heard you." If she had looked at Juliet, she would have said _I_ instead of _we_.
Her kind manner brought Faber to himself a little.
"Pray, do not apologize," he said.