and we must work up some more choruses.
Mrs Loftus, have you any Gilbert and Sullivan operas in the house?
Couldn't we have a try at them?"

Why not, indeed? No sooner said than done. Out came the operas from
the music cabinet, and as half-a-dozen voices urged the claims of
half-a-dozen favourites, there was plainly nothing to be done but take
each in turn. The chorus was by way of being a scratch combination--one
treble; one alto, who had to accompany as well as sing, and also to put
in all the high notes, because the treble declared that she could not
possibly "go" above F; two tenors, by no means as correct as they might
have been; and an army of heavy, dragging bass--but what was lacking in
ability was made up by fervour.

Mr Merrilies did not sing, but he volunteered to turn over the pages,
and seating himself by Hope's side, watched her face for the signal
which was to guide his inexperience. At first this signal was a quick
glance at his face, but as time went on this was replaced by a nod of
the head or an upward jerk of the hand--for there was something in the
expression of those watchful eyes which was embarrassing to meet at
close quarters. They talked quietly together between the choruses,
while the different parts were wrangling loudly, each laying the blame
upon the other, and calling attention to his own superior performance:
and it was not in girl nature to be ignorant of the fact that Ralph
seemed far less concerned about the music than her own comfort. The
lamp was moved because it dazzled her eyes; the book was raised to a
more convenient angle; a door was closed to avoid a draught; and all in
a quiet, unobtrusive manner that made the attention doubly acceptable.
Members of large families are not accustomed to have their wishes
gratified almost before they are realised, and are all the more ready to
appreciate such consideration from a stranger.

Hope played, and sang, and instructed--gave leads, banged insistently
upon notes which the singers rendered flat instead of sharp, and even
finished a tenor solo which had hopelessly come to grief--until hand and
voice and head alike ached with fatigue; but still the insatiable chorus
clamoured for more, remembering another and another favourite which it
would be a sin to leave untried.

"You are tired," said a low voice in her ear. "You shall not play any
longer;" and before she had time to protest, Ralph Merrilies had risen
from his seat and clo