"Corisande's is a fine voice," said Lady Montairy, "but I admire her
expression more than her tone; for there are certainly many finer
voices, and some day you will hear them."

"But I prefer expression," said Lothair very decidedly.

"Ah, yes! doubtless," said Lady Montairy, who was working a purse, "and
that's what we all want, I believe; at least we married daughters, they
say. My brother, Granville St. Aldegonde, says we are all too much
alike, and that Bertha St. Aldegonde would be parallel if she had no
sisters."

"I don't at all agree with Lord St. Aldegonde," said Lothair, with
energy. "I do not think it is possible to have too many relatives like
you and your sisters."

Lady Montairy looked up with a smile, but she did not meet a smiling
countenance. He seemed, what is called an earnest young man, this
friend of her brother Bertram.

At this moment the duke sent swift messengers for all: to come, even the
duchess, to partake in a new game just arrived from Russia, some
miraculous combination of billiard-balls. Some rose directly, some
lingering a moment arranging their work, but all were in motion.
Corisande was at the piano, and disencumbering herself of some music.
Lothair went up to her rather abruptly:

"Your singing," he said, "is the finest thing I ever heard. I am so
happy that I am not going to leave Brentham to-morrow. There is no