to yawn. Miss McQuinch, when her turn came, played worse than before,
and the audience, longing for another negro melody, paid little
attention to her. Marian sang a religious song, which was received with
the respect usually accorded to a dull sermon. The clergyman read a
comic essay of his own composition, and Mrs. Fairfax recited an ode to
Mazzini. The concertinists played an arrangement of a quartet by Onslow.
The working men and women of Wandsworth gaped, and those who sat near
the door began to slip out. Even Miss McQuinch pitied them.

"The idea of expecting them to be grateful for an infliction like
that!" she said. "What do people of their class care about Onslow's
quartets?"

"Do you think that people of any class, high or low, would be gratified
by such an entertainment?" said Conolly, with some warmth. No one had
sufficient spirit left to reply.

At last the concertinists went home, and the reading drew to a close.
Conolly, again accompanied by Marian, sang "Tom Bowling." The audience
awoke, cheered the singer heartily, and made him sing again. On his
return to the green-room, Miss McQuinch, much affected at the fate of
Bowling, and indignant with herself for being so, stared defiantly at
Conolly through a film of tears. When Marmaduke went out, the people
also were so moved that they were ripe for laughter, and with roars of
merriment forced him to sing three songs, in the choruses of which they
joined. Eventually the clergyman had to bid them go home, as Mr. Lind
had given them all the songs he knew.

"I suppose you will not come with us, Duke," said Marian, when all was
over, and they were preparing to leave. "We can drop you at your