was the very wooden-spoon of racing
plate. So she first smiled consolingly at the culprit, who was already
contrite, and then looked up at the last speaker with amusement and
wonder glittering in her pretty brown eyes. She did not see what
interest the subject could have for Keene, who had only darkened the
chapel doors once since they came. Mr. Fullarton, indeed, was supposed
to have alluded to him several times--his discourses were apt to take a
personal and individualizing turn--but he had never had the satisfaction
of a "shot in the open" at that stout-hearted sinner.

Royston caught _la mignonne's_ glance, and understood it perfectly, but
not a line of his face moved. He was waiting for Cecil's reply very
anxiously: he had not heard her speak yet.

"Mr. Fullarton is rather rash," she said, "for our acquaintance is
slight, and I don't think he ever heard me sing. But I shall do my best
next Sunday. Every one ought to help in such a case as much as they
can."

"Yes, and you will do it so beautifully, dearest!" Cecil bit her lip,
and colored angrily. Nothing annoyed her like Mrs. Danvers' obtrusive
partisanship and uncouth flattery.

The gleam of pleasure that shone out on Keene's dark face for a moment,
only Harry interpreted rightly. He had scarcely listened to the words,
but he thought, "I knew I was right; I knew the voice would match the
rest!" When they moved on again, he walked by Miss Tresilyan's side, and
"still their speech was song."

His first remark was, "I hope you condescend to ballads sometimes? I
confess to not deriving much pleasure from those elaborate performances
where the voice tries dangerous feats of strength and agility: even at
the Opera they make one rather uncomfortable. Some of the very
scientific pieces suggest ideas of homicide or suicide, as the case may
be, according to my temper at the moment. Of course, I know less than
nothing about music; but I don't think this quite accounts for it. I
really believe that unsophisticated human nature revolts at the
_bravura_."

It was rare good fortune, so early in their acquaintance, to tempt forth
the brilliant smile that always betrayed when Cecil was well pleased.

"Mrs. Molyneux has told you what my tastes are?" she said. "I have never
tried _bravuras_ since I left off masters, and even then I only
attempted them under protest. But there are some quiet songs I like so
much that I sing them to myself when I am out of spirits, and it do