meant what he said; but from a general point of
view the performance was a failure, and Mrs Loftus felt disappointed.
Hope had been invited with the especial intent of providing amusement
for her guests, and if she failed to do so there was really no reason
for her presence.

"Sing something to us, Hope," said Mrs Loftus imperiously. "Sing some
of your own songs.--Miss Charrington has composed some charming little
things," she explained to the company at large, who murmured politely in
response.

"Compose? How wonderful of you! How do you manage to do it?" queried
Truda eagerly, while the fair youth pulled his moustache and looked at
Hope as if she were a wild animal escaped from the Zoo, and Uncle Loftus
began humming what he fondly supposed to be the air of "The Song of
Sleep" to his companion on the sofa.

Plainly, the best thing to do was to begin at once before the situation
grew more embarrassing, so Hope broke into the accompaniment of song
number one, a simple but taking little production which had been
published two years before. It was greeted with applause, so
spontaneous and genuine that it could not fail to be inspiriting. Hope
forgot to be nervous, and sang "Pack Clouds Away" in her best style,
sweetly, smoothly, and with that distinctness of enunciation which is so
rare a charm. More applause followed, more exclamations of
appreciation, more queries as to how she did it, and then Uncle Loftus
must needs begin humming again, and put in a request for "The sleepy
one, you know--the one you wrote to order. That is the gem of the
collection, in my opinion. We should like to hear the sleepy one, my
dear."

Now, as it happened, Hope was by no means anxious to grant this request,
for the idea which Miss Caldecott had so slightly suggested had appealed
very strongly to her sensitive nature, and she had put into it her best
work, with the hope that when listening to it its hearers might feel
something of the same thrill, the same earnestness, which she had
experienced in its composition. She had never been able to go through
it unmoved, and it seemed almost sacrilege to sing it in this room full
of noisy strangers, who would miss its point, and at best pronounce it
"sweetly pretty." She tried to protest, to declare that she had already
monopolised the piano too long, but it was of no avail. The more she
hung back, the more eager became her audience. "The sooner begun, the
sooner it's done," she sai