frightful!"

Hildegarde and Bell exchanged glances; the Colonel was on his high
horse, and riding it hard.

"And what did they sing?" asked Bell.

"They _squalled_, my dear young lady,--I refuse to call such performance
singing,--some Italian macaroni kind of stuff. Macaroni and
soap-suds,--that was what it made me think of. When I was a young lad,
they made a song about the Italian opera,--new, it was then, and people
didn't take to it at first,--how did that go, now? Hum, ha! I ought to
be able to remember that."

"Was it 'Meess Nancy,' perhaps, Colonel?" asked Mrs. Merryweather. "I
think I can recall that for you."

"My dear lady, the very thing! 'Meess Nancy said unto me'--if you would
be so obliging, Mrs. Merryweather."

And Mrs. Merryweather sang, to the funniest little languishing tune:

"Meess Nancy said unto me one day,
'Vill you play on my leetle guitar?'
Meess Nancy said unto me one day,
'Vill you play on my leetle guitar?
Vich goes "tinky-tink-ting!"
Vich goes "tanky-tank-tang!"
Vich goes "ting,"
Vich goes "tang,"
Vich goes "ta!"'"

"Exactly!" said the Colonel. "Precisely! tanky-tank-tang! that is the
essence of half the drawing-room music one hears; and the other half is
apt to be the kind of cacophonous folderol that my nephew Jack tortures
the inoffensive air with. By the way, Hildegarde,--hum, ha! nothing of
the sort!"

"I beg your pardon, Colonel Ferrers!" said Hildegarde, somewhat
perplexed, as was no wonder.

"Nothing of the slightest consequence," said the Colonel, looking
slightly confused. "My absent way, you know. Oblige us with another
song, will you, my dear? 'Mary of Argyle,' if you have no special
preference for anything else. My mother was fond of 'Mary of Argyle';
used to sing it when I was a lad,--hum, ha! several years ago."

"In one moment, Colonel Ferrers. I just wanted to ask you, since you
spoke of Jack,--have you any idea when we shall see the dear fellow? Is
there any chance of his getting home in time for Christmas?"

But here the Colonel became quite testy. He vowed that his nephew Jack
was the most irresponsible human being that ever lived, with the
exception of his father. "My brother Raymond--Jack's father, you are
aware, Mrs. Grahame--never knows, it is my belief, whether it is time to
get up or to go to bed. As to eating his meals--it is a marvel that the
man i