opatra turned away
from the piano.

"If you're all going to talk," she said, looking a little pale, "it's no
use my singing, is it? I can wait a moment."

"Sorry, old girl," Leonetta cried. "It was only me. I'm dumb now."

Mrs. Delarayne had risen and was urging her elder daughter back to the
piano. Sir Joseph was also trying his hand at persuasion, and when Miss
Mallowcoid and Agatha added their prayers to the rest, Cleopatra at last
spread her music out again, and the song began.

Those, however, who know the swing and gaiety of _Les Epouseuses du
Berry_, will hardly require to be told how hopeless was the effect of it
when sung by a voice which, owing to recent and unabated vexation, was
continually on the verge of tears. Nothing, perhaps, is more thoroughly
tragic than a really lively melody intoned by a voice quavering with
emotion, and even Sir Joseph, who did not understand a word of the song,
was deeply grateful when it was all over.

Mrs. Delarayne made determined efforts at restoring the natural and
spontaneous good cheer which the party appeared to have lost, but her
exertions were only partially successful, and although Agatha Fearwell
and Cleopatra sang other songs, the recollection of that tragico-comic
_Les Epouseuses du Berry_ had evidently sunk too deeply to be removed.

That night, as Cleopatra was taking leave of her mother, in the latter's
bedroom, she lingered a little at the door.

"What is it, my darling?" Mrs. Delarayne demanded. "Do you want to ask
me something?"

"Yes, Edith," Cleopatra replied slowly, looking down at the handle she
was holding. "I am perfectly prepared to admit that Leo did not perhaps
intend to be offensive over my song, although, of course, as you know
she ruined the whole thing; but anyhow, do you think that she has any
right, so soon after meeting him, to call Mr. Malster 'Denis'? Isn't it
rather bad form?"

Mrs. Delarayne sighed. "Very bad form, my dear, very bad form," she
replied. "Of course, I admit, it's very bad form. But for all we know,
he may have asked her to do it. You see, both you and I call him
'Denis,' and I suppose he thought it would sound odd if Leo did not
also."

Still Cleopatra lingered. She wanted to say more, and Mrs. Delarayne
divined that she wanted to say more. The words, however, were hard to
find, and, at last, bidding her mother "Good-night," she departed only
half comforted.

CHAPTER VIII

Lord Henry felt he had done hi