hair, which no hairdresser could tame,
had fallen right across his broad brow, and heightened the effect of a
very undeniable frown. Mr. Caspar Brooke was in anything but an amiable
temper.

It was with a laudable attempt, however, to keep the displeasure out of
his voice that he said at length--

"I thought I understood you to say, Lesley, that you were not musical!"

The color flushed Lesley's face to the very roots of her hair.

"I do not think I am--very musical," she said, trying to answer bravely.
"I play the piano very little."

"Of course you must know that that is a quibble," said Mr. Brooke,
dryly. "A talent for music does not confine itself solely to the piano.
I presume that you have been told that you have a good voice?"

"Yes, I have been told so."

"And you have had lessons?"

"Yes, a few."

"Then may I ask what was your motive for declining to take lessons in
London when I asked to do so? You even went so far as to make use of a
subterfuge: you gave me to understand that you had no musical power at
all, and that you knew nothing and could do nothing?"

He paused as if he expected a reply; but Lesley did not say a word.

"I cannot understand it," Mr. Brooke went on; "but,"--after a pause--"I
suppose there is no reason why I should. I did not come to say anything
much about that part of the business. I came rather to suggest that as
you have a good voice, it is wrong not to cultivate it. And your lessons
will give you something to do. It seems to me rather a pity, my dear,
that you should do nothing but sit round and read novels--which, your
aunt tells me, is your principal occupation. Suppose you try to find
something more useful to do?"

He spoke with a smile now and in a softer voice; but Lesley was much too
hurt and depressed to say a word. He looked at her steadfastly for a
minute or two, and decided that she was sullen.

"I will see about the lessons for you," he said, getting up and speaking
decidedly, "and I hope you will make the most of your opportunities. How
much time have you been in the habit of devoting to your singing every
day?"

"An hour and a half," said Lesley, in a very low voice.

"And you left off practising as soon as you came here? That was a great
pity; and you must allow me to say, Lesley, very silly into the bargain.
Surely your own conscience tells you that it was wrong? A voice like
yours is not meant to be hidden."

Lesley wished that at that moment she co