Mrs. Gresham about club-books, and new flowers, to
which she was by this time able to attend very well, satisfied that
his happiness had returned, and content to wait till the good time for
knowing how. She could even be composed when the gentlemen came in, Guy
talking to Mr. Ross about Coombe Prior, and then going to Charles; but
presently she saw no more, for a request for music was made, and she was
obliged to go and play a duet with Laura. She did not dislike this, but
there followed a persecution for some singing. Laura would have spared
her, but could not; and while she was turning over the book to try to
find something that was not impossible to begin, and Laura whispering
encouragingly, 'This--try this--your part is almost nothing; or can't
you do this?' another hand turned over the leaves, as if perfectly at
home in them, and, without speaking, as if it was natural for him to
spare Amy, found a song which they had often sung together, where she
might join as much or as little as she chose, under cover of his voice.
She had not a thought or sensation beyond the joy of hearing it again,
and she stood, motionless, as if in a trance. When it was over, he said
to Laura, 'I beg your pardon for making such bad work. I am so much out
of practice.'

Mrs. Brownlow was seen advancing on them; Amy retreated, leaving Guy
and Laura to fulfil all that was required of them, which they did with
a very good grace, and Laura's old familiar feeling began to revive,
so much that she whispered while he was finding the place, 'Don't you
dislike all this excessively?'

'It does as well as anything else, thank you,' was the answer. 'I can do
it better than talking.'

At last they were released, and the world was going away. Mary could not
help whispering to Mrs. Edmonstone, 'How glad you must be to get rid of
us!' and, as Mrs. Edmonstone answered with a smile, she ventured further
to say,--'How beautifully Amy has behaved!'

Little Amy, as soon as she had heard the last carriage roll off, wished
every one good night, shook hands with Guy, holding up the lighted
candle between him and her face as a veil, and ran away to her own room.
The others remained in a sort of embarrassed silence, Mr. Edmonstone
rubbing his hands; Laura lighted the candles, Charlotte asked after
Bustle, and was answered that he was at Oxford, and Charles, laying hold
of the side of the sofa, pulled himself by it into a sitting posture.

'Shall I help you?' sa