overs he
has split his right glove all up the palm, when he caves in, and,
having said something impossible, puts his hands behind his back and
refuses to applaud again.

Lady Mary has come forward, and entreated her audience to "Love not,"
in the faintest and most plaintive of voices. The county is delighted
with her, and smiles unrestrainedly behind its fans. "Dear Lady Mary
is _so_ funny, don't you know," says Miss Grey of Greymount, in an
indescribable tone.

Then comes a solo on the violin, that charms all the back benches, and
reduces the farmers' wives and daughters to tears, as it tells them
how that the poor player's "lodging is on the cold ground."

Lord Alfred, who has not yet recovered his temper, says this is
"disgusting," and "wonders what the--so-and-so--brought him here at
all."

"I suppose the night brougham," says Dorian, equably, who is now
engaged in a minute examination of Miss Broughton's head, round which
her soft yellow hair is twisted in a loose artistic coil.

He is in quite a happy mood, if somewhat silent, and says the solo
isn't half bad; and now Mr. Hastings, the curate, reads something from
the "Ingoldsby Legends," that seems to displease Cissy Redmond
extremely, as she will not lift her head during the reading, or even
look at him, and expresses herself as quite charmed when it is at an
end.

And now comes the event of the evening,--the thing that is to convince
the county of the necessity for a good organ, and to show them the
rare excellence of the Pullingham choir.

Sarah Martin, the leading soprano--all muslin and blue bows--comes
forward, and begins the solo upon which all the vicar's hopes are
centred.

"The shades of night are falling fast."

begins Sarah, nobly, and goes on in a hopeful manner to the end of the
first verse.

The vicar draws a deep sigh of relief!

"His brow was sad, his eye beneath,"

goes on Sarah victoriously, her whole soul in the safe fulfilment of
her task. She gets through to the end of the second verse as
successfully as she did to the end of the first, and then pauses to
draw breath.

The vicar exchanges a triumphant glance with Miss Peyton.

"In happy homes they saw the light,"

continues Sarah. And then--then! something horrible happens. A sound,
very terrible to the vicar, smites upon his ear,--a sound that fills
his clerical bosom with dismay. Sarah's voice--the voice of his chief
prop--has proved false. It has given way; it