I got some new
ones," snapped Miss Layard.

"Perhaps everybody doesn't think so much about clothes as you do,
Eliza," suggested her brother Stephen, seeing an opportunity which he
was loth to lose. Eliza, in the privacy of domestic life, was not a
person to be assailed with a light heart, but in company, when to some
extent she must keep her temper under control, more might be dared.

She shifted her chair a little, with her a familiar sign of war, and
while searching for a repartee which would be sufficiently crushing,
cast on Stephen a glance that might have turned wine into vinegar.

Somewhat tremulously, for unless the fire could be damped before it got
full hold, she knew what they might expect, the little hostess broke in
with--

"What a beautiful singing voice she has, hasn't she?"

"Who?" asked Eliza, pretending not to understand.

"Why, Miss Fregelius, of course."

"Oh, well, that is a matter of opinion."

"Hang it all, Eliza!" said her brother, "there can't be two opinions
about it, she sings like an angel."

"Do you think so, Stephen? I should have said she sings like an opera
dancer."

"Always understood that their gifts lay in their legs and not in
their throats. But perhaps you mean a prima donna," remarked Stephen
reflectively.

"No, I don't. Prima donnas are not in the habit of screeching at the
top of their voices, and then stopping suddenly to make an effect and
attract attention."

"Certainly she has attracted my attention, and I only wish I could
hear such screeching every day; it would be a great change." It may
be explained that the Layards were musical, and that each detested the
music of the other.

"Really, Stephen," rejoined Eliza, with sarcasm as awkward as it was
meant to be crushing, "I shall have to tell Jane Rose that she is
dethroned, poor dear--beaten out of the field by a hymn-tune, a pair of
brown eyes, and--a black silk fichu."

This was a venomous stab, since for a distance of ten miles round
everyone with ears to hear knew that Stephen's admiration of Miss Rose
had not ended prosperously for Stephen. The poisoned knife sank deep,
and its smart drove the little pale-eyed man to fury.

"You can tell her what you like, Eliza," he replied, for his
self-control was utterly gone; "but it won't be much use, for she'll
know what you mean. She'll know that you are jealous of Miss Fregelius
because she's so good looking; just as you are jealous of her, and
of Mary Porson