ase his
appetite in eating. Yet he was not sorry that he had forgotten the
fish; it would surely have been a bathos to discuss the properties and
application of red mullet with a young lady who found herself in so
tragically lowly a position.

After Westray had set out for the church, Anastasia Joliffe went back to
Mr Sharnall's room, for it was she who had been playing the violin.
The organist sat at the piano, drumming chords in an impatient and
irritated way.

"Well," he said, without looking at her as she came in--"well, what does
my lord want with my lady? What has he made you run up to the top of
the house for now? I wish I could wring his neck for him. Here we are
out of breath, as usual, and our hands shaking; we shan't be able to
play even as well as we did before, and that isn't saying much. Why,"
he cried, as he looked at her, "you're as red as a turkey-cock. I
believe he's been making love to you."

"Mr Sharnall," she retorted quickly, "if you say those things I will
never come to your room again. I hate you when you speak like that, and
fancy you are not yourself."

She took her violin, and putting it under her arm, plucked arpeggi
sharply.

"There," he said, "don't take all I say so seriously; it is only because
I am out of health and out of temper. Forgive me, child; I know well
enough that there'll be no lovemaking with you till the right man comes,
and I hope he never will come, Anastasia--I hope he never will."

She did not accept or refuse his excuses, but tuned a string that had
gone down.

"Good heavens!" he said, as she walked to the music-stand to play;
"can't you hear the A's as flat as a pancake?"

She tightened the string again without speaking, and began the movement
in which they had been interrupted. But her thoughts were not with the
music, and mistake followed mistake.

"What _are_ you doing?" said the organist. "You're worse than you were
when we began five years ago. It's mere waste of time for you to go on,
and for me, too."

Then he saw that she was crying in the bitterness of vexation, and swung
round on his music-stool without getting up.

"Anstice, I didn't mean it, dear. I didn't mean to be such a brute.
You are getting on well--well; and as for wasting my time, why, I
haven't got anything to do, nor anyone to teach except you, and you know
I would slave all day and all night, too, if I could give you any
pleasure by it. Don't cry. Why are you crying?"