anyway."

"Sandy says he hasn't left any," resumed Nan calmly.

"At least, only small ones. We mustn't blame him. What are they made
of, Kitty? They'd beguile a fasting saint--let alone a material person
like Sandy."

"Salmon paste and cress," replied Mrs. Seymour mildly.

"I bet any money its salmon and shrimp paste," declared Sandy. "And
it's the vulgar shrimp which appeals."

He helped himself unostentatiously to another sandwich.

"Your eighth," commented Nan.

"It's the shrimpness of them," he murmured plaintively. "I can't help
it."

"Well, draw the line somewhere," she returned. "If we're going to play
duets after tea and you continue to absorb sandwiches at your present
rate of consumption, you'll soon be incapable of detecting the inherent
difference between a quaver and a semibreve."

"Then I shall count," said Sandy.

"No."

"Aloud," he added firmly.

"Sandy, you're a beast!"

"Not a bit. I believe I could compose a symphonic poem under the
influence of salmon and shrimp sandwiches--if I had enough of them."

"You've had enough," retorted Nan promptly. "So come along and begin."

She swept him away to the big music-room, where a polished floor and an
absence of draperies offered no hindrance to the tones of the beautiful
Bluethner piano. Some of the party drifted in from the terrace outside
as Sandy's long, boyish fingers began to move capably over the keys,
extemporising delightfully.

"If he were only a little older," whispered Kitty to Lord St. John.

"Inveterate match-maker!" he whispered back.

Sandy pulled Nan down on to the music seat beside him.

"_The Shrimp Symphony_ in A flat minor, arranged for four hands," he
announced. "Come on, Nan. Time, seven-four--"

"Sandy, don't be ridiculous!"

"Why not seven-four?"--innocently. "You have five-four. Come along.
_One_, two, three, four, five, six, sev'n; _one_, two, three, four,
five--"

And the next moment the two were improvising a farcical duet that in
its way was a masterpiece of ingenious musicianship. Thence they
passed on to more serious music until finally Sandy was persuaded to
produce his violin--he had two, one of which, as he was wont to remark,
"lodged" at Mallow. With the help of Penelope and Ralph Fenton, the
afternoon was whiled away until a low-toned gong, reverberating through
the house was a warning that it was time to dress for dinner, brought
the impromptu concert to an abrupt end.

C