inald, as she crashed into a
fortissimo, "another sonata! Listen, I am not equal to sonatas. Nay,
Miss Beecham, play me a little nothing--talk to me."

She shook her head at him with a laugh, and went on playing the hardest
piece of music she could think of, complicating herself in difficult
chords and sudden accidentals. If there had been anybody there to hear
who could have understood, Phoebe's performance would, no doubt, have
appeared a masterpiece of brilliant execution, as it was; but the two
others were paying not the slightest attention, and as for Reginald, he
was in a state of tantalized vexation, which half-amused himself, and
filled the performer with an exhilarating sense of successful mischief.
Northcote was trying to say--what was he not trying to say?--to Ursula,
under cover of the music, which was the best shield he could have had;
and perhaps in reality, though Reginald was tantalized to the utmost
degree of tantalization, even he had a certain enjoyment in the saucy
self-defence which was more mischievous than cruel. He stood behind
Phoebe's chair, now and then meeting her laughing glance with one of
tender appeal and reproach, pleased to feel himself thus isolated with
her, and held an arm's-length in so genial a way. He would have his
opportunity after a while, when there would be no piano to give her a
momentary refuge, and then he would say out all that was in his heart,
with no possible shadow of a rival to interfere with him. Angry? no; as
he stood behind her, watching her fingers fly over the keys, a
delightful calm stole over Reginald. Now and then she would throw a
half-mocking glance at him upward over her shoulder, as she swept over
the resounding board. When the sonata was concluded, Phoebe sprang up
from the piano, and went back to the table. She proposed that they
should play a game at cards, to which Ursula agreed. The young men
shrugged their shoulders and protested; but, after all, what did it
matter, so long as they were together? They fell into their places quite
naturally, the very cards assisting; and so the moments flew by. There
was not so much sound as usual in the old faded drawing-room, which had
come to look so bright and homelike; not so much sound of voices,
perhaps less laughter--yet of all the evenings they had spent there
together, that was the one they looked back upon, all four, with most
tender recollection. They had been so happy, or, if not happy, so near
(apparent