ment, had disappeared. He got
up suddenly, and after a turn across the room he was in, walked into
the other one, and contributed his share to the babble of felicitation
or comment that followed what was clearly thought an achievement in
musical rendering.

"Oh dear, oh dear!" said Laetitia Wilson. "Was ever a poor girl so sat
upon? I feel quite flat!" This was not meant to be taken too much _au
pied de la lettre_. It was merely a method of praise of Mr. Bradshaw.

"But what a jolly shame you had to give it up!" This was Sally in
undisguised admiration. But in Mr. Julius Bradshaw's eyes, Sally's
identity had undergone a change. Her breezy frankness had made hay of
a _grande passion_, and was blowing the hay all over the field. He had
come close to, and had a good look; but he will hardly go away in a
huff, although he feels a little silly over his public worship of these
past weeks. Just at this moment of the story, however, he is very
apologetic towards Miss Wilson; on whom, if she reports correctly, he
has sat. He tries no pretences with a view to her reinstatement, even
on a par with himself. He knows, and every one knows, they would be
seen through immediately. It is no use assuring her she is a capital
player, of her years. Much better let it alone!

"Are you any the worse, Mr. Bradshaw?" says Dr. Vereker. Obviously, as
a medical authority, it is his duty to "voice" this inquiry. So he
voices it.

"N--no; but that's about as much as I can do, with safety. It won't do
to spoil my night's rest, and be late at the shop." It was easy to talk
about the shop with perfect unreserve after such a performance as that.

"Oh dear! we are so sorry for you!" Thus the two girls. And concurrence
comes in various forms from Vereker, Fenwick, and the pianist, whom we
haven't mentioned before. He was a cousin of Miss Wilson's, and was one
of those unfortunate young men who have no individuality whatever. But
pianists have to be human unless you can afford a pianola. You may
speak of them as Mr. What's-his-name, or Miss Thingummy, but you must
give them tea or coffee or cake or sandwiches, or whatever is brought
in on a tray. This young man's name, we believe, was Elsley--Nobody
Elsley, Miss Sally in her frivolity had thought fit to christen him.
You know how in your own life people come in and go out, and you never
know anything about them. Even so this young man in this story.

"I was very sorry for myself, I assure you"--it i