He wouldn't thank us for eliminating all his unpleasant patients during his absence.
Now, Miss Campion, a song, please! The most sentimental in your _repertoire_!" She flashed him her gay smile and flung the streaming ribbons over her arm.

There was a gleam of mischief in her eyes as, without preliminary, she began to sing.

Her voice was rich and low and wonderfully pure.
In vain all the knights of the Underworld woo'd her, Though brightest of maidens, the proudest was she; Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her, But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye.
"Whomsoever I wed," said this maid, "so excelling, That Knight must the conqu'ror of conquerors be; He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in;-- None else shall be Lord of the high-born Ladye!" Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round her On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree; Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her, And worshipp'd at distance the high-born Ladye.
At length came a Knight from a far land to woo her, With plumes on his helm like the foam of the sea; His vizor was down--but, with voice that thrill'd through her, He whisper'd his vows to the high-born Ladye.
"Proud maiden, I come with high spousals to grace thee, In me the great conqu'ror of conquerors see; Enthron'd in a hall fit for monarchs I'll place thee, And mine thou'rt for ever, thou high-born Ladye!" The maiden she smil'd and in jewels array'd her, Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she; And proud was the step, as her bridegroom convey'd her In pomp to his home, of that high-born Ladye.
"But whither," she, starting, exclaims, "have you led me?
Here's nought but a tomb and a dark cypress tree; Is _this_ the bright palace in which thou wouldst wed me ?" With scorn in her glance, said the high-born Ladye.
"Tis the home," he replied, "of earth's loftiest creatures." Then he lifted his helm for the fair one to see; But she sunk on the ground--'twas a skeleton's features, And Death was the Lord of the high-born Ladye! The beautiful voice throbbed away into silence, and the mandolin jarred and thrummed upon the floor.

Violet Campion sat staring straight before her with eyes that were wide and fixed.
Olga jumped up impulsively.

"Violet, why did you sing that gruesome thing?
Do you want to give us all the horrors ?" She picked up the mandolin with a swish of its red ribbons, and laid it upon the piano, where it quivered and thrummed again like a living thing, awaking weird echoes from the instrument on which it rested.
Then she turned back to her friend.