guessed. You must write a song for me one of these days."

"Do you sing?" cried the delighted Mr. Moggridge.

Sam, who had been waiting for a chance to speak, shouted across the
room--"I say, Miss Limpenny, Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys will sing if you ask
her."

After very little solicitation, and with none of the coyness common
to amateurs, she seated herself at the instrument, quietly pulled off
her gloves, and dashed without more ado into a rollicking Irish
ditty.

"Be aisy an' list to a chune
That's sung uv bowld Tim, the dragoon;
Sure, 'twas he'd niver miss
To be stalin' a kiss--
Or a brace--by the light uv the moon,
Aroon,
Wid a wink at the man in the moon!"

"Really!" murmured Miss Limpenny. The keys of the decorous "Collard"
clashed as they had never clashed before. The guests, at first
shocked and startled, began to be carried away with the reckless
swing of the music. The Vicar stared for a moment, and then began
gradually to nod his head to the measure.

"You must sing the last line in chorus, please," said Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys from the piano--