attempts of the instrument with the pleasant levity of her voice. "I
used to do it."

"Ye might try it now, Ellen," suggested her husband, with a
half-frightened, half-amused tolerance.

"YOU play, then," said Mrs. Rylands quickly, offering her seat to him.

Mr. Rylands sat down to the harmonium, as Mrs. Rylands briskly moved
the table and chairs against the wall. Mr. Rylands played slowly and
strenuously, as from a conscientious regard of the instrument. Mrs.
Rylands stood in the centre of the floor, making a rather pretty,
animated picture, as she again stimulated the heavy harmonium swell not
only with her voice but her hands and feet. Presently she began to skip.

I should warn the reader here that this was before the "shawl" or
"skirt" dancing was in vogue, and I am afraid that pretty Mrs. Rylands's
performances would now be voted slow. Her silk skirt and frilled
petticoat were lifted just over her small ankles and tiny bronze-kid
shoes. In the course of a pirouette or two, there was a slight further
revelation of blue silk stockings and some delicate embroidery, but
really nothing more than may be seen in the sweep of a modern waltz.
Suddenly the music ceased. Mr. Rylands had left the harmonium and walked
over to the hearth. Mrs. Rylands stopped, and came towards him with a
flushed, anxious face.

"It don't seem to go right, does it?" she said, with her nervous laugh.
"I suppose I'm getting too old now, and I don't quite remember it."

"Better forget it altogether," he replied gravely. He stopped at seeing