placed about upon the tables, and Mrs. Darrell was sitting near her
husband, employed upon some airy scrap of fancy-work, while he read
his _Times_.

He asked for some music soon after we went in, and she rose to obey
him with a very charming air of submission. She played
magnificently, with a power and style that were quite new to me, for
I had heard no professional performers. She sang an Italian scena
afterwards, in a rich mezzo-soprano, and with a kind of suppressed
passion that impressed me deeply. I scarcely wondered, after hearing
her play and sing, that Mr. Darrell had been fascinated by her.
These gifts of hers were in themselves sufficient to subjugate a man
who really cared for music.

Milly was charmed into forgetfulness of her prejudices. She went
over to the piano and kissed her stepmother.

'Papa told me how clever you were,' she said; 'but he did not tell
me you were a genius.'

Mrs. Darrell received the compliment very modestly, and then tried
to persuade Milly to sing or play; but the girl declined resolutely.
Nothing could induce her to touch the piano after that brilliant
performance.

The next day and several days passed very quietly, and in a kind of
monotonous comfort. The rector of the parish dined with us one day,
and on another a neighbouring squire with his wife and three
daughters. Milly and I spent a good deal of our time in the gardens
and on the sea-shore, with Julian Stormont for our companion, while