And if once the mischief roam,
Straight he'll wing him to my heart."

What there might be in verse like this to touch with faintest emotion,
let him say who cultivates art for art's sake. Doubtless there is that
in rhythm and rhyme and cadence which will touch the pericardium when
the heart itself is not to be reached by divinest harmony; but, whether
such women as Hesper feel this touch or only admire a song as they
admire the church-prayers and Shakespeare, or whether, imagining in it
some _tour de force_ of which they are themselves incapable, they
therefore look upon it as a mighty thing, I am at a loss to determine.
All I know is that a gleam as from some far-off mirror of admiration
did certainly, to Tom's great satisfaction, appear on Hesper's
countenance. As, however, she said nothing, he, to waive aside a
threatening awkwardness, lightly subjoined:

"Queen Anne is all the rage now, you see."

Mrs. Redmain knew that Queen-Anne houses were in fashion, and was even
able to recognize one by its flush window-frames, while she had felt
something odd, which might be old-fashioned, in the song; between the
two, she was led to the conclusion that the fashion of Queen Anne's
time had been revived in the making of verses also.

"Can you, then, make a song to any pattern you please?" she asked.

"I fancy so," answered Tom, indifferently, as if it were nothing to him
to do whatever he chose to attempt. And in fact he could imitate almost
anything--and well, too--the easier that he had nothing of his own
pressing for utterance; for he had yet made no response to the first
demand made on every man, the only demand for originality made on any
man--that he should order his own way aright.

"How clever you must be!" drawled Hesper; and, notwithstanding the
tone, the words were pleasant in the ears of goose Tom. He rose, opened
the piano, and, with not a little cheap facility, began to accompany a
sweet tenor voice in the song he had just read.

The door opened, and Mr. Redmain came in. He gave a glance at Tom as he
sang, and went up to his wife where she still sat, with her face to the
fire, and her back to the piano.

"New singing-master, eh?" he said.

"No," answered his wife.

"Who the deuce is he?"

"I forget his name," replied Hesper, in the tone of one bored by
question. "He used to come to Durnmelling."

"That is no reason why he should not have a name to him."

Hesper did not reply. Tom went on