the subject as if fearful of losing that satisfaction by further
questioning.

"I tried some of those songs you brought, but I don't think they go
well with the harmonium," she said, pointing to some music on its rack,
"except one. Just listen." She rose, and with the same nervous quickness
she had shown before, went to the instrument and began to sing and play.
There was a hopeless incongruity between the character of the instrument
and the spirit of the song. Mrs. Rylands's voice was rather forced and
crudely trained, but Joshua Rylands, sitting there comfortably slippered
by the fire and conscious of the sheeted rain against the window, felt
it good. Presently he arose, and lounging heavily over to the fair
performer, leaned down and imprinted a kiss on the labyrinthine fringes
of her hair. At which Mrs. Rylands caught blindly at his hand nearest
her, and without lifting her other hand from the keys, or her eyes from
the music, said tentatively:--

"You know there's a chorus just here! Why can't you try it with me?"

Mr. Rylands hesitated a moment, then, with a preliminary cough, lifted a
voice as crude as hers, but powerful through much camp-meeting exercise,
and roared a chorus which was remarkable chiefly for requiring that
archness and playfulness in execution which he lacked. As the whole
house seemed to dilate with the sound, and the wind outside to withhold
its fury, Mr. Rylands felt that physical delight which children feel
in personal outcry, and was grateful to his wife for the opportunity.
Laying his hand affectionately on her shoulder, he noticed for the first
time that she was in a kind of evening-dress, and that her delicate
white shoulder shone through the black lace that enveloped it.