ng disposed of
my tea.

'Just at present we want a little soothing. There is an east wind
to-day, and not being a piece of perfection like yourself, I feel on
edge! I have not been treated well. I had my eye on Mr. Stanton for
King Arthur, and Hugh tells me they are dining in town on the 6th,
which is the date we have fixed. I suspect they have arranged it
between them. Then Constance and I want to pose for the same
character; she thinks she is better suited to it than I, and she likes
her own way. I think the contrary, and I like mine. And the fact is
that I've been told that you are a great violinist--"Music hath power
to soothe the savage breast." Will you do us the favour of playing to
us now? We shall feel more peaceably disposed towards each other
afterwards, I know.'

I willingly complied, and played one thing after another. When I put
down my violin, I saw Miss Willoughby give an approving nod towards
Mrs. Forsyth, and then she said, 'Thank you--that is a great treat.
Now I feel at peace with all mankind; do you?'

'I think I generally do,' I replied.

'Well, now, what I want to ask you is this,--and I am sure you will not
be so ill-natured as to refuse,--would you mind playing a little like
that just behind a screen for us? You won't be seen at all, and no one
will know who it is. Nelly says you have scruples about taking part in
tableaux; but of course this could not be an objection.'

Miss Willoughby dropped the half-mocking tone in which she usually
addressed me, and for an instant I felt I could not refuse. Nelly saw
my hesitation, and took advantage of it. 'Do say "Yes," Hilda; we want
a violin, and Violet does play so atrociously; there is no one about
here that can do it as well as you. It will only be for about ten
minutes.'

'Why do you want it?' I asked.

'I will tell you,' said Kenneth; 'we are to have some moving tableaux,
illustrating certain pithy sayings. Miss Willoughby has mentioned the
one we want you for,--"Music hath charms," etc. I think I am to pose
as one of the villains. We are divided as to whether it is to be a
duel or a cold-blooded murder; but I know my part is to transform my
face from that in which diabolical hatred and fiendish rage is
depicted, into a gradual state of simpering, smiling imbecility, and I
think the curtain will fall upon me and my rival locked in each other's
arms, shedding maudlin tears of love into our respective shirt-fronts!'

'The