wiser
than he. She had not meant the song to be allusive when she began, but
to speak to him through it by singing the heathen song as his own sister
might sing it. As the song went on, however, she felt the inherent
suggestion in it, so that when she had finished it required all her
strength to get up calmly, come among them again, and listen to their
praises and thanks. She had no particular wish to be alone with Frank
just yet, but the others soon arranged themselves so that the husband
and wife were left in a cosey corner of the room.

Lali's heart fluttered a little at first, for the day had been trying,
and she was not as strong as she could wish. Admirably as she had gone
through the season, it had worn on her, and her constitution had become
sensitive and delicate, while yet strong. The life had almost refined
her too much. Always on the watch that she should do exactly as Marion
or Mrs. Armour, always so sensitive as to what was required of her,
always preparing for this very time, now that it had come, and her heart
and mind were strong, her body seemed to weaken. Once or twice during
the day she had felt a little faint, but it had passed off, and she
had scolded herself. She did not wish a serious talk with her husband
to-night, but she saw now that it was inevitable.

He said to her as he sat down beside her: "You sing very well indeed.
The song is full of meaning, and you bring it all out."

"I am glad you like it," she responded conventionally. "Of course it's
an unusual song for an English drawing-room."

"As you sing it, it would be beautiful and acceptable anywhere, Lali."

"Thank you again," she answered, closing and unclosing her fan, her eyes
wandering to where Mrs. Armour was. She wished she could escape, for she
did not feel like talking, and yet though the man was her husband she
could not say that she was too tired to talk; she must be polite. Then,
with a little dainty malice: "It is more interesting, though, in the
vernacular--and costume!"

"Not unless you sang it so," he answered gallantly, and with a kind of
earnestness.

"You have not forgotten the way of London men," she rejoined.

"Perhaps that is well, for I do not know the way of women," he said,
with a faint bitterness. "Yet, I don't speak unadvisedly in this,"--here
he meant to be a little bold and bring the talk to the past,--"for I
heard you sing that song once before."

She turned on him half puzzled, a little nervous. "