daylight beginning to tell; the birds were singing and chattering and
calling everywhere; and the sweet, pure air of the morning, as it
stirred, and no more than stirred, the trembling leaves, brought with it
a scent of mignonette that seemed to speak of the coming of June.

Laura, in the person of Lady Adela Cunyngham, had reproached the
faithless Damon (who was no other than Mr. Lionel Moore)--

"Ungrateful Damon, is it come to this?
Are these the happy scenes of promis'd bliss?
Ne'er hope, vain Laura, future peace to prove;
Content ne'er harbors with neglected love."

--and Damon had replied (not mumbling his lines, as a privileged actor
sometimes does at rehearsal, but addressing them properly to the hapless
Laura)--

"Consider, fair, the ever-restless pow'r,
Shifts with the breeze, and changes with the hour:
Above restraint, he scorns a fixt abode,
And on his silken plumes flies forth the rambling god."

Then Lady Sybil took out her violin from its case and drew the bow
across the strings.

"We'll let you off the song, if you like, Mr. Moore," Lady Adela said
to the young baritone, but in a very half-hearted kind of way.

"Oh, no," said he, pleasantly, "perhaps this may be my only rehearsal."