o go down so badly he
couldn't think at all.

He made up his mind he wouldn't go down--not that night anyway. He
lighted his pipe in defiance of the whole sex. But somehow he couldn't
keep it going. He only smoked matches. Nor keep his legs from
twitching; nor his brain from suggesting vain pretexts to knock at her
door. He might go out and buy her a gas mantle--but that _would_ be a
low trick on Charley. He flung down the pipe, he walked up and down,
he looked out of the window; a score of times he swore to himself that
he would not go down, yet his perambulations left him ever nearer the
door.

Finally with a great effort of the will he closed it. But almost
instantly he flew to open it again, bent his head to listen, then threw
it back with a note of deep laughter. He commenced to run downstairs.
She was singing, the witch! She _had_ made the first overture. Let
her make believe as much as she liked, she must have calculated that
the song would bring him. Outside her door--it was closed to-night--he
pulled himself up short. "Easy! Easy!" he said to himself. "If
you're in such a rush to come when you're called she'll have the laugh
on you anyhow. Let her sing for a while, the darling! You won't miss
anything here."

It was a jolly little song, full of enchanting runs and changes; old
English, he guessed:

"Oh, the pretty, pretty creature;
When I next do meet her,
No more like a clown will I face her frown
But gallantly will I treat her."

"A hint for me," thought Evan, smiling delightedly.

When she came to the end of the song, Evan, fearful that she might open
the door and find him there, hastened on downstairs. Miss Sisson was
in her room at the back with the door open, and Evan stepped in for a
chat, flattering the lady not a little thereby, for Mr. Weir was the
most stand-offish of her gentleman roomers--and the comeliest.

But it is to be feared she didn't get much profit out of this
conversation, for Mr. Weir was strangely absent-minded. His thoughts
were in the room overhead where the heart-disquieting mezzo-soprano was
now singing a wistfuller song and no less sweet:

"Phyllis has such charming graces
I must love her or I die."

Miss Sisson remarked in her most elegant and acid tones: "It's such an
annoyance to have a singer in the house. I already regret that I
yielded to her importunities."

"You fool!" thought Evan. "She makes a paradise of your old rookery