it was decidedly trying, at a
moment when she dared not remove her eyes from the accompaniment of
Good King Wenceslas, to have called out: "Stay where you are, Jenkins!"
and then find it was Mrs. Jarvis who had been travelling upwards. But
when a new footman, engaged by Lord Ingleby with no reference to his
musical gifts, chanced to possess a fine throaty tenor, Myra felt she
really had material with which great things might be accomplished, and
decided herself to learn the Tonic sol-fa system. She easily mastered
mi, re, do, and so, fa, fa, mi, because these represented the opening
lines of Three Blind Mice, always a musical landmark to Myra. But when
it came to the fugue-like intricacies in the theme of "They all ran
after the farmer's wife," Lady Ingleby was lost without the words to
cling to, and gave up the Tonic sol-fa system in despair.

So the name of the greatest teacher of singing of this age did not
convey much to Myra's mind. But Garth Dalmain sat up.

"I say! No wonder you take it coolly. Why, Velma herself was a pupil of
the great madame."

"That is how it happens that I know her rather well," said Jane. "I am
here to-day because I was to have played her accompaniment."

"I see," said Garth. "And now you have to do both. 'Land's sake!' as
Mrs. Parker Bangs says when you explain who's who at a Marlborough
House garden party. But you prefer playing other people's
accompaniments, to singing yourself, don't you?"

Jane's slow smile dawned again.

"I prefer singing," she said, "but accompanying is more useful."

"Of course it is," said Garth. "Heaps of people can sing a little, but
very few can accompany properly."

"Jane," said Myra, her grey eyes looking out lazily from under their
long black lashes, "if you have had singing lessons, and know some
songs, why hasn't the duchess turned you on to sing to us before this?"

"For a sad reason," Jane replied. "You know her only son died eight
years ago? He was such a handsome, talented fellow. He and I inherited
our love of music from our grandfather. My cousin got into a musical
set at college, studied with enthusiasm, and wanted to take it up
professionally. He had promised, one Christmas vacation, to sing at a
charity concert in town, and went out, when only just recovering from
influenza, to fulfil this engagement. He had a relapse, double
pneumonia set in, and he died in five days from heart failure. My poor
aunt was frantic with grief; and since the