he excellent Quain. Quain at breakfast, Quain at chapel, Quain at
dinner.... I got him to slumber on one side of the hearth and mother on
the other, and then I slipped away in case they awoke. If they do, I've
told Cissie to say that I've gone out to take a tract to a sick
friend--back in five minutes.'

'Oh, Harry, you are silly!' Millicent laughed. Every one, including the
narrator, was amused by this elaborate fiction of the managing of those
two impressive persons, Mrs. Burgess and the venerable Christian
geologist, by a kind, indulgent, bored Harry. Leonora, who had resumed
her magazine, looked up and smiled the guarded smile of the mother.

'I'm afraid you're getting worse,' she murmured, and his candid
seductive face told her that while he was on no account not to be
regarded as a gay dog, and a sad dog, and a worldly dog, yet
nevertheless he and she thoroughly appreciated and understood each
other. She did indeed like him, and she found pleasure in his presence;
he gratified the eye.

'I wish you'd sing something, Milly,' he began again after a pause.

'No,' said Milly, 'I'm not going to sing now.'

'But do. Can't she, Mrs. Stanway?'

'Well, what do you want me to sing?'

'Sing "Love is a plaintive song," out of the second act.'

Harry was the newly appointed secretary of the Bursley Amateur Operatic
Society, of which both Ethel and Millicent were members. In a few weeks'
time the Society was to render _Patience_ in the Town Hall for the
benefit of local charities, and rehearsals were occurring frequently.

'Oh! I'm not Patience,' Milly objected stiffly; she was only Ella.
'Besides, I mayn't, may I, mamma?'

'Your father might not like it,' said Leonora.

'The dad has taken Bran out for a walk, so it won't trouble him,' Ethel
interjected sleepily under her breath.

'Well, but look here, Mrs. Stanway,' said Harry conclusively, 'the
organist at the Wesleyan chapel actually plays the sextet from
_Patience_ for a voluntary. What about that? If there's no harm in
that----' Leonora surrendered. 'Come on, Mill,' he commanded. 'I shall
have to return to my muttons directly,' and he opened the piano.

'But I tell you I'm not Patience.'

'Come _on_! You know the music all right. Then we'll try Ella's bit in
the first act. I'll play.'

Millicent arose, shook her hair, and walked to the piano with the mien
of a prima donna who has the capitals of Europe at her feet, exultant in
her youth, her charm, her vo