sist in getting up amiable
little scenes without good reason rendered."

Elinor glanced at Marian, and saw that though Douglas was speaking to
her in a low voice, she was listening nervously to her husband. So she
said sharply, "It is a pity you were not here to tell us what to do."

"Apparently it is," said Conolly, complacently.

"What would you have done?" said Marian suddenly, interrupting Douglas.

"I suppose," said Conolly, looking round at her in surprise, "I should
have answered her question--told her what she was wanted for. If I asked
you to do anything, and you enquired why, you would be extremely annoyed
if I answered, 'because I ask you.'"

"I would not ask why," said Marian. "I would do it."

"That would be very nice of you," said Conolly; "but you cannot: expect
such a selfish, mistrustful, and curious animal as a little child to be
equally kind and confiding. Lucy is too acute not to have learned long
since that grown people systematically impose on the credulity and
helplessness of children."

"Thats true," said Elinor, reluctantly. Marian turned away and quietly
resumed her conversation with Douglas. After a minute she strolled with
him into the garden, whither Marmaduke had already retired to smoke.

"Has the evening been a pleasant one, Miss McQuinch?" said Conolly, left
alone with her.

"Yes: we have had a very pleasant evening indeed. We played chess and
_ecarte_; and we all agreed to make old times of it. Marmaduke sang for
us; and Marian had us nearly in tears with those old ballads of hers."

"And then I came in and spoiled it all. Eh?"

"Certainly not. Why do you say that?"

"Merely a mischievous impulse to say something true: jealousy, perhaps,
because I missed being here earlier. You think, then, that if I had been
here, the evening would have been equally pleasant, and Marian equally
happy in her singing?"

"Dont you like Marian's singing?"

"Could you not have refrained from that most indiscreet question?"

"I ought to have. It came out unawares. Do not answer it."

"That would make matters worse. And there is no reason whatever why the
plain truth should not be told. When I was a child I heard every day
better performances than Marian's. She believes there is something
pretty and good in music, and patronizes it accordingly to the best of
her ability. I do not like to hear music patronized; and when Marian,
lovely as she is, gives her pretty renderings of songs which I ha