music to be,
Mr. Rollo?' For Rollo, prowling about in the shrubbery, had at
the moment joined them. He answered rather absently, that he
believed it was to be in the garden.

'Do you understand, Mr. Nightingale?'--Wych Hazel resumed,
turning to her other companion--'that is a mistake.'

'Can you prove it? But apropos, I am right in supposing that
you are fond of music? That is true, isn't it?'

'Very true!'--But she was thinking.--'Mr. Rollo, how can you
always say what you mean, without saying what you do not
mean?' she asked suddenly.

'Choose your audience,' said Rollo.

'I like to say what I mean to anybody!'

'It is a great luxury. But the corresponding luxury of being
understood, is not always at command. Have you been puzzling
Mr. Nightingale?' he asked in an amused voice.

'Only presenting my ideas wrong end first, as usual. Is Miss
Fisher here to-night?--and do you like her, Mr. Rollo?'

'Miss Fisher?--Kitty?--I have not seen her since I came home
from Europe. But there is Prim. I must go and take care of
her.'

He disappeared. The walk and talk of the two others was
prolonged, until faint sweet notes of wind instruments from
afar called them to join the rest of the world.

There was quite a little company gathered at this point, a
small clearing in the shrubbery around one side of which seats
were placed. Here the music lovers (and some others) were
ranged, in a tiny semi-circle, half in shadow, half in light,
as the lamps and moonbeams served. The light came clear upon
half the little spot of greensward; glittering on leaves and
branches beyond, glanced on the tops of trees higher up. A
lively chitter-chatter was going on, after the fashion of such
companies, when Wych Hazel came up, but a moment after the
first notes of the music struck their ears, and all was as
hushed as the moonlight itself. Only the notes of the harmony
floated in and out through the trees; nothing else moved.

Mrs. Powder had managed to secure some good musical talent,
for the performance was of excellent quality. Perhaps summer
air and moonbeams helped the effect. At any rate, the first
performance, a duet between a flute and a violin, was
undoubtedly listened to; and that is saying much. The
performers were out of sight. Then a fine soprano voice
followed, in a favourite opera air.

Wych Hazel was seated near one end of the semi-circle, with
Primrose just behind her; both of them in shadow. Rollo had
been standing