ising in that moment that
it was, after all, possible for a complete and overwhelming experience
to be one-sided. Jane's calm grey eyes were full of gay friendliness.

"It was your fault, my dear boy," said Jane.

"How so?" queried Garth; and though there was a deep flush on his
sunburned face, his voice was quietly interrogative.

"Because, during those last days at Overdene, you led me on into a time
of musical dissipation such as I had never known before, and I missed
it to a degree which was positively alarming. I began to fear for the
balance of my well-ordered mind."

"Well," said Myra, coming out from behind her red parasol, "you and Dal
can have orgies of music here if you want them. You will find a piano
in the drawing-room and another in the hall, and a Bechstein grand in
the billiard-room. That is where I hold the practices for the men and
maids. I could not make up my mind which makers I really preferred,
Erard, Broadwood, Collard, or Bechstein; so by degrees I collected one
of each. And after all I think I play best upon the little cottage
piano we had in the school-room at home. It stands in my boudoir now. I
seem more accustomed to its notes, or it lends itself better to my way
of playing."

"Thank you, Myra," said Jane. "I fancy Dal and I will like the
Bechstein."

"And if you want something really exciting in the way of music,"
continued Lady Ingleby, "you might attend some of the rehearsals for
this 'service of song' they are getting up in aid of the organ deficit
fund. I believe they are attempting great things."

"I would sooner pay off the whole deficit, than go within a mile of a
'service of song,'" said Jane emphatically.

"Oh, no," put in Garth quickly, noting Myra's look of disappointment.
"It is so good for people to work off their own debts and earn the
things they need in their churches. And 'services of song' are
delightful if well done, as I am sure this will be if Lady Ingleby's
people are in it. Lawson outlined it to me this morning, and hummed all
the principal airs. It is highly dramatic. Robinson Crusoe--no, of
course not! What's the beggar's name? 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'? Yes, I knew
it was something black. Lawson is Uncle Tom, and the vicar's small
daughter is to be little Eva. Miss Champion, you will walk down with me
to the very next rehearsal."

"Shall I?" said Jane, unconscious of how tender was the smile she gave
him; conscious only that in her own heart was the remembran