o, the march that told of the enemy's approach.

And: "Boompity-boomp-boomp-boomp!" Archdeacon Long could not refrain
from underlining each fresh salvo of artillery; while: "That's a breach
in their walls for 'em!" was Chinnery of the London Chartered's
contribution to the stock of fun.

Mahony stood on the hearthrug and surveyed the assembly. His eyes fled
Mrs. Devine, most unfortunately perched on an ottoman in the middle of
the room, where she sat, purple, shiny and beaming, two hot, fat, red
hands clasped over her stomach ("Like a heathen idol! Confound the
woman! I shall have to go and do the polite to her"), and sought Mary
at the piano, hanging with pleasure on the slim form in the rich silk
dress. This caught numberless lights from the candles, as did also the
wings of her glossy hair. He watched, with a kind of amused tenderness,
how at each forte passage head and shoulders took their share of
lending force to the tones. He never greatly enjoyed Mary's playing.
She did well enough at it, God bless her!--it would not have been Mary
if she hadn't--but he came of a musical family; his mother had sung
Handel faultlessly in her day, besides having a mastery of several
instruments: and he was apt to be critical. Mary's firm, capable hands
looked out of place on a piano; seemed to stand in a sheerly business
relation to the keys. Nor was it otherwise with her singing: she had a
fair contralto, but her ear was at fault; and he sometimes found
himself swallowing nervously when she attacked high notes.

"Oh, doctor! your wife DO play the pianner lovely," said Mrs. Devine,
and her fat front rose and fell in an ecstatic sigh.

"Richard dear, will you come?" Mary laid her hands on his shoulder:
their guests were clamouring for a DUO. Her touch was a caress: here he
was, making himself as pleasant as he knew how, to this old woman. When
it came to doing a kindness, you could rely on Richard; he was all bark
and no bite.

Husband and wife blended their voices--Mary had been at considerable
pains to get up her part--and then Richard went on to a solo. He had a
clear, true tenor that was very agreeable to hear; and Mary felt quite
proud of his attainments. Later in the evening he might be persuaded to
give them a reading from Boz, or a recitation. At that kind of thing,
he had not his equal.

But first there was a cry for his flute; and in vain did Mahony protest
that weeks had elapsed since he last screwed the instrument