inst her in London, and since their installation at Brookfield they
had announced to their father that she was not to be endured there. Mr.
Pole had plaintively attempted to dilate on the virtues of Martha Chump.
"In her place," said the ladies, and illustrated to him that amid a
nosegay of flowers there was no fit room for an exuberant vegetable. The
old man had sighed and seemed to surrender. One thing was certain: Mrs.
Chump had never been seen at Brookfield. "She never shall be, save by
the servants," said the ladies.

Emilia, not unmarked of Mr. Pericles, had gone over to Wilfrid once or
twice, to ask him if haply he disapproved of anything she had done.
Mr. Pericles shrugged, and went "Ah!" as who should say, "This must be
stopped." Adela now came to her and caught her hand, showering sweet
whispers on her, and bidding her go to her harp and do her best. "We
love you; we all love you!" was her parting instigation.

The quartett was abandoned. Arabella had departed with a firm
countenance to combat Mrs. Chump.

Emilia sat by her harp. The saloon was critically still; so still that
Adela fancied she heard a faint Irish protest from the parlour. Wilfrid
was perhaps the most critical auditor present: for he doubted whether
she could renew that singular charm of her singing in the pale lighted
woods. The first smooth contralto notes took him captive. He scarcely
believed that this could be the raw girl whom his sisters delicately
pitied.

A murmur of plaudits, the low thunder of gathering acclamation, went
round. Lady Gosstre looked a satisfied, "This will do." Wilfrid
saw Emilia's eyes appeal hopefully to Mr. Pericles. The connoisseur
shrugged. A pain lodged visibly on her black eyebrows. She gripped her
harp, and her eyelids appeared to quiver as she took the notes. Again,
and still singing, she turned her head to him. The eyes of Mr. Pericles
were white, as if upraised to intercede for her with the Powers of
Harmony. Her voice grew unnerved. On a sudden she excited herself to
pitch and give volume to that note which had been the enchantment of the
night in the woods. It quavered. One might have thought her caught by
the throat.

Emilia gazed at no one now. She rose, without a word or an apology,
keeping her eyes down.

"Fiasco!" cruelly cried Mr. Pericles.

That was better to her than the silly kindness of the people who deemed
it well to encourage her with applause. Emilia could not bear the
clapping of ha