the singer seemed to harden her voice to a martial
tone, and the young man felt as though he must rise to his feet. As the
last sound died, the great musician himself stepped forward and escorted
the girl to the improvised seat at the rear of the platform. The
audience had heard nothing of the kind before.

They did not think Mrs. Blanchflower's girl could work musical miracles.
They clamoured until the singer came forward and sang them, "What's a
the steer, Kimmer?" and she finished the song with triumphant archness.
In the interval between the first and the second part of the concert,
Sir John imperatively demanded that the young lady should be brought to
him, and he grumbled out words of approval which he considered very
valuable.

Desborough went home and sat thinking hour after hour. His table was
covered with papers. He looked at one sheet of manuscript and said,
"What a fool I must have been to think that I could write! I have never
begun to live until now. I will burn this last chapter and open a new
one."

Tho other young men who had heard the songs were pleased, but they soon
forgot, and thought only of Miss Blanchflower as a pretty girl who had a
nice voice. Desborough was weak. His passion took complete command of
him, and he was ready for any of those things that mad lovers do, and
that staid people find so incredible. Within a month he had managed to
meet the girl. Within two months she had learned that he was her slave.
With the intuition that the most commonplace girls possess, she saw that
he was never the man to be master, and she amused herself with him. The
acquaintance ripened as the summer came on, and before the autumn the
young fellow was ready to fetch and carry for his idol, and had
surrendered his soul to her with tragic completeness.

There is something a little gross in this descent into slavery, but poor
Desborough did not see it, for he was not given to self-introspection.
He only knew that he was happy. A word exalted him, and he never felt a
rebuff.

Miss Blanchflower's mother was a commonplace woman, who looked with a
business eye upon the odd courtship that was passing in her household
day after day. One evening she said to her daughter, "Marion, had not
you better settle matters one way or the other?" The girl needed no
explanation of particulars. She very well knew what were the matters
referred to. She tossed her head and quietly replied, "Not with him,
mother. When I marry a