angry when he is treated cruelly and doesn't deserve it. You don't
understand that, I dare say."

"Oh, yes, I do. I heard what you said about me to Mrs. Fosdyke, and I
heard you bang the door when you got out of my way."

He received this reply with every appearance of satisfaction. "So you
listened, did you? I'm glad to hear that."

"Why?"

"It shows you take some interest in me, after all."

Throughout this frivolous talk (I only venture to report it because it
shows that I bore no malice on my side) Miss Melbury was looking at us
like the basilisk of the ancients. She owned to being on the wrong side
of thirty; and she had a little money--but these were surely no reasons
why she should glare at a poor governess. Had some secret understanding
of the tender sort been already established between Mr. Sax and herself?
She provoked me into trying to find out--especially as the last words he
had said offered me the opportunity.

"I can prove that I feel a sincere interest in you," I resumed. "I can
resign you to a lady who has a far better claim to your attention than
mine. You are neglecting her shamefully."

He stared at me with an appearance of bewilderment, which seemed to
imply that the attachment was on the lady's side, so far. It was of
course impossible to mention names; I merely turned my eyes in the right
direction. He looked where I looked--and his shyness revealed itself,
in spite of his resolution to conceal it. His face flushed; he looked
mortified and surprised. Miss Melbury could endure it no longer. She
rose, took a song from the music-stand, and approached us.

"I am going to sing," she said, handing the music to him. "Please turn
over for me, Mr. Sax."

I think he hesitated--but I cannot feel sure that I observed him
correctly. It matters little. With or without hesitation, he followed
her to the piano.

Miss Melbury sang--with perfect self-possession, and an immense compass
of voice. A gentleman near me said she ought to be on the stage. I
thought so too. Big as it was, our drawing-room was not large enough for
her. The gentleman sang next. No voice at all--but so sweet, such true
feeling! I turned over the leaves for him. A dear old lady, sitting near
the piano, entered into conversation with me. She spoke of the great
singers at the beginning of the present century. Mr. Sax hovered about,
with Miss Melbury's eye on him. I was so entranced by the anecdotes of
my venerable friend, that I co