It would reproach him more sharply than words, she thought.

A cloud of angry tears blurred her sight as she struck the tinkling prelude.
"A month ago Lysander prayed To Jove, to Cupid, and to Venus--" _Thrum-thrum-thrum_ went the double bass next door.

Mr.Moggridge looked up.

How thin and reedy Sophia's voice sounded to-night! He had never thought so before.
"That he might die, if he betrayed A single vow that passed between us." "Sweetly touching!" murmured Mrs.Goodwyn-Sandys.
Sophia pursued-- "O careless gods, to hear so ill, And cheat the maid on you relying; For false Lysander's thriving still, And 'tis Corinna lies a-dying." "Is that all ?" asked Mrs.Goodwyn-Sandys as Sophia with flushed cheeks left the piano.
"That is all--a little effort not worth--" "Oh, it is yours! But," with a sweet smile, "I ought to have guessed.

You must write a song for me one of these days." "Do you sing ?" cried the delighted Mr.Moggridge.
Sam, who had been waiting for a chance to speak, shouted across the room--"I say, Miss Limpenny, Mrs.Goodwyn-Sandys will sing if you ask her." After very little solicitation, and with none of the coyness common to amateurs, she seated herself at the instrument, quietly pulled off her gloves, and dashed without more ado into a rollicking Irish ditty.
"Be aisy an' list to a chune That's sung uv bowld Tim, the dragoon; Sure, 'twas he'd niver miss To be stalin' a kiss-- Or a brace--by the light uv the moon, Aroon, Wid a wink at the man in the moon!" "Really!" murmured Miss Limpenny.