said he never minded making a bad speech in a good cause, and he made as
bad a one as very well could be. He closed it by telling Mark Twain's
whistling story so that those who knew it by heart missed the paint; but
that might have been because he hurried it, to get himself out of the way
of the others following. When he had done, one of the most ardent of the
Americans proposed three cheers for him.

The actress whom he had secured in spite of Mrs. Milray appeared in
woman's dress contrary to her inveterate professional habit, and followed
him with great acceptance in her favorite variety-stage song; and then
her husband gave imitations of Sir Henry Irving, and of Miss Maggie Kline
in "T'row him down, McCloskey," with a cockney accent. A frightened
little girl, whose mother had volunteered her talent, gasped a ballad to
her mother's accompaniment, and two young girls played a duet on the
mandolin and guitar. A gentleman of cosmopolitan military tradition, who
sold the pools in the smoking-room, and was the friend of all the men
present, and the acquaintance of several, gave selections of his
autobiography prefatory to bellowing in a deep bass voice, "They're
hanging Danny Deaver," and then a lady interpolated herself into the
programme with a kindness which Lord Lioncourt acknowledged, in saying
"The more the merrier," and sang Bonnie Dundee, thumping the piano out of
all proportion to her size and apparent strength.

Some advances which Clementina had made for Mrs. Milray's help about the
dress she should wear in her dance met with bewildering indifference, and
she had fallen back upon her own devices. She did not think of taking
back her promise, and she had come to look forward to her part with a
happiness which the good weather and the even sway of the ship
encouraged. But her pulses fluttered, as she glided into the music room,
and sank into a chair next Mrs. Milray. She had on an accordion skirt