s face never once wore
its cynical expression; but when we returned to the drawing-room, and
Lady Betty wanted to continue the subject, he took her quietly by the
shoulders and marched her off to Miss Darrell.

'Make the child hold her tongue, Etta,' he said good-humouredly. 'I want
to coax Miss Garston to sing to us.' And then he came to me with the
smile I liked best to see on his face, and held out his hand.

I was quite willing to oblige him, and he kept me hard at work for nearly
an hour, first asking me if I were tired, and then begging for one more
song; and sometimes I thought of Gladys as I sang, and sometimes of Max,
and once of Mrs. Carrick, with her wonderful gray eyes, and her false
fair face.

When I had finished I saw Mr. Hamilton looking at me rather strangely.

'Why do you sing such sad songs?' he asked, in a low voice, as though he
did not wish to be overheard; but he need not have been afraid: Miss
Darrell was evidently taking no notice of any one just then. She was
lying back in her chair with her eyes closed, and I noticed afterwards
that her forehead was lined like an old woman's.

'I like melancholy songs,' was my reply, and I fingered the notes a
little nervously, for his look was rather too keen just then, and I had
been thinking of Mrs. Carrick.

'But you are not melancholy,' he persisted. 'There is no weak
sentimentality in your nature. Just now there was a passion in your voice
that startled me, as though you were drawing from some secret well.' He
paused, and then went on, half playfully,--

'If I were like the Hebrew steward, and asked you to let down your
pitcher and give me a draught, I wonder what you would answer?'

'That would depend on circumstances. You would find it difficult to
persuade me that you were thirsty, or needed anything that I could give.'

'Would it be so difficult as all that?' he returned thoughtfully. 'I
thought we were better friends; that you had penetrated beneath the upper
crust; that in spite of my faults you trusted me a little.'

His earnestness troubled me. I hardly knew what he meant.

'Of course we are friends,' I answered hastily. 'I can trust you more
than a little.' And I would have risen from my seat, but he put his hand
gently on my sleeve.

'Wait a moment. You are going away, and I may not have another
opportunity. I want to tell you something. You have done me good; you
have taught me that women can be trusted, after all. I thank you mos