ling. "You are the lion of the neighbourhood just now; and I'm sure
it is very good of you to come in and cheer a lonely old woman. Are you
going to play me something rather more lively to-day?"

He laughed.

"Ah! Poor Pestal! I had forgotten all about our last meeting."

"You were very much excited that day," said Mrs. O'Reilly. "I had no
idea that your political notions--"

He interrupted her

"Ah! no politics to-day, dear Mrs. O'Reilly. Let us have nothing but
enjoyment and harmony. See, now, I will play you something very much
more cheerful."

And sitting down to the piano, he played the bridal march from
'Lohengrin,' then wandered off into an improvised air, and finally
treated them to some recollections of the 'Mikado.'

Lena-Houghton watched him thoughtfully as she put on her gloves; he was
playing with great spirit, and the words of the opera rang in her ears:--

For he's going to marry Yum-yum, Yum-yum,
And so you had better be dumb, dumb, dumb!

I knew well enough that she would not follow this moral advice, and I
laughed to myself because the whole scene was such a hollow mockery. The
placid benevolent-looking old lady leaning back in her arm-chair; the
girl in her blue gingham and straw hat preparing to go to the afternoon
service; the happy lover entering heart and soul into Sullivan's charming
music; the pretty room with its Chippendale furniture, its aesthetic
hangings, its bowls of roses; and the sound of church bells wafted
through the open window on the soft summer breeze.

Yet all the time I lingered there unseen, carrying with me all sorts of
dread possibilities. I had been introduced into the world, and even if
Mrs. O'Reilly had been willing to admit to herself that she had broken
the ninth commandment, and had earnestly desired to recall me, all her
sighs and tears and regrets would have availed nothing; so true is the
saying, "Of thy word unspoken thou art master; thy spoken word is master
of thee."

"Thank you." "Thank you." "How I envy your power of playing!"

The two ladies seemed to vie with each other in making pretty speeches,
and Zaluski, who loved music and loved giving pleasure, looked really
pleased. I am sure it did not enter his head that his two companions
were not sincere, or that they did not wish him well. He was thinking to
himself how simple and kindly the Muddleton people were, and how great a
contrast this life was to his life in London; and he