sure, and in his normal state could only smile and look
good-natured. Roderick Vawdrey was ever so far away, between his
betrothed and an enormous dowager in sky-blue velvet and diamonds.

After dinner there was music. Lady Mabel played a dreary minor melody,
chiefly remarkable for its delicate modulation from sharps to flats and
back again. A large gentleman sang an Italian buffo song, at which the
company smiled tepidly; a small young lady sighed and languished
through "Non e ver;" and then Miss Tempest and Lord Mallow sang a duet.

This was the success of the evening. They were asked to sing again and
again. They were allowed to monopolise the piano; and before the
evening was over everyone had decided that Lord Mallow and Miss Tempest
were engaged. Only the voices of plighted lovers could be expected to
harmonise as well as that.

"They must have sung very often together," said the Duchess to Mrs.
Winstanley.

"Only within the last fortnight. Lord Mallow never stayed with us
before, you know. He is my husband's friend. They were
brother-officers, and have known each other a long time. Lord Mallow
insists upon Violet singing every evening. He is passionately fond of
music."

"Very pleasant," murmured the Duchess approvingly: and then she glided
on to shed the sunshine of her presence upon another group of guests.

Carriages began to be announced at eleven--that is to say, about
half-an-hour after the gentlemen had left the dining-room--but the Duke
insisted that people should stop till twelve.

"We must see the old year out," he said. "It is a lovely night. We can
go out on the terrace and hear the Ringwood bells."

This is how Violet and Lord Mallow happened to sing so many duets.
There was plenty of time for music during the hour before midnight.
After the singing, a rash young gentleman, pining to distinguish
himself somehow--a young man with a pimply complexion, who had said
with Don Carlos, "Three-and-twenty years of age, and nothing done for
immortality"--recited Tennyson's "Farewell to the Old Year," in a voice
which was like anything but a trumpet, and with gesticulation painfully
suggestive of Saint Vitus.

The long suite of rooms terminated in the orangery, a substantial stone
building with tesselated pavement, and wide windows opening on the
terrace. The night was wondrously mild. The full moon shed her tender
light upon the dark Forest, the shining water-pools, the distant
blackness of a group