There was a calm silence. "Hem!" observed Sir Henry Talbot.

"Eh?" replied the Honorable Tom Hitherington.

"Mamma," said Miss Vere, "have you brought any work?"

"No, my dear."

"At a picnic," said Mr. Hitherington, "isn't it the thing for somebody--aw--to do something?"

"Ipsden," said Lady Barbara, "there is an understanding _between_ you and Mr. Hitherington. I condemn you to turn him into English."

"Yes, Lady Barbara; I'll tell you, he means---do you mean anything, Tom?"

_Hitherington._ "Can't anybody guess what I mean?"

_Lady Barbara._ "Guess first yourself, you can't be suspected of being in the secret."

_Hither._ "What I mean is, that people sing a song, or run races, or preach a sermon, or do something funny at a picnic--aw--somebody gets up and does something."

_Lady Bar._ "Then perhaps Miss Vere, whose singing is famous, will have the complaisance to sing to us."

_Miss Vere._ "I should be happy, Lady Barbara, but I have not brought my music."

_Lady Bar._ "Oh, we are not critical; the simplest air, or even a fragment of melody; the sea and the sky will be a better accompaniment than Broadwood ever made."

_Miss V._ "I can't sing a note without book."

_Sir H. Talbot._ "Your music is in your soul--not at your fingers'

ends."

_Lord Ipsden, to Lady Bar._ "It is in her book, and not in her soul."

_Lady Bar., to Lord Ips._ "Then it has chosen the better situation of the two."

_Ips._ "Miss Vere is to the fine art of music what the engrossers are to the black art of law; it all filters through them without leaving any sediment; and so the music of the day pa.s.ses through Miss Vere's mind, but none remains--to stain its virgin snow."

He bows, she smiles.

_Lady Bar., to herself._ "Insolent. And the little dunce thinks he is complimenting her."

_Ips._ "Perhaps Talbot will come to our rescue--he is a fiddler."

_Tal._ "An amateur of the violin."

_Ips._ "It is all the same thing."

_Lady Bar._ "I wish it may prove so."

[Note: original has music notation here]

_Miss V._ "Beautiful."

_Mrs. Vere._ "Charming."

_Hither._ "Superb!"

_Ips._ "You are aware that good music is a thing to be wedded to immortal verse, shall I recite a bit of poetry to match Talbot's strain?"

_Miss V._ "Oh, yes! how nice."

_Ips. (rhetorically)._ "A. B. C. D. E. F. G. H. I. J. K. L. M. N. O. P.

Q. R. S. T. U. V. W. X. Y. Z. Y. X. W. V. U. T. S. O. N. M. L. K. J. I.

H. G. F. A. M. little p. little t."

_Lady Bar._ "Beautiful! Superb! Ipsden has been taking lessons on the thinking instrument."

_Hither._ "He has been _perdu_ among vulgar people."

_Tal._ "And expects a pupil of Herz to play him tunes!"

_Lady Bar._ "What are tunes, Sir Henry?"

_Tal._ "Something I don't play, Lady Barbara."

_Lady Bar._ "I understand you; something we ought to like."

_Ips._ "I have a Stradivarius violin at home. It is yours, Talbot, if you can define a tune."

_Tal._ "A tune is--everybody knows what."

_Lady Bar._ "A tune is a tune, that is what you meant to say."

_Tal._ "Of course it is."

_Lady Bar._ "Be reasonable, Ipsden; no man can do two things at once; how can the pupil of Herz condemn a thing and know what it means contemporaneously?"

_Ips._ "Is the drinking-song in 'Der Freischutz' a tune?"

_Lady Bar._ "It is."

_Ips._ "And the melodies of Handel, are they tunes?"

_Lady Bar. (pathetically)._ "They are! They are!"

_Ips._ "And the 'Russian Anthem,' and the 'Ma.r.s.eillaise,' and 'Ah, Perdona'?"

_Tal._ "And 'Yankee Doodle'?"

_Lady Bar._ "So that Sir Henry, who prided himself on his ignorance, has a wide field for its dominion."