the best thing we do on this island...."

He was lingering in a smiling abstractedness on his fancy, when--

"Bertram Cope!" a voice suddenly said, "do you do nothing--nothing?"

He suddenly came to. Perhaps he had really deserved his hostess' rebuke. He
had not offered to help with the tea-service; he had preferred no
appropriate remark, of an individual nature, to any of the three
_ancillae_....

"I mean," proceeded Mrs. Phillips, "can you do nothing whatever to
entertain?"

Cope gained another stage on the way to self-consciousness and self-
control. Entertainment was doubtless the basic curse of this household.

"I sing," he said, with naif suddenness and simplicity.

"Then, sing--do. There's the open piano. Can you play your own
accompaniments?"

"Some of the simpler ones."

"Some of the simpler ones! Do you hear that, girls? He is quite prepared to
wipe us all out. Shall we let him?"

"That's unfair," Cope protested. "Is it my fault if composers _will_ write
hard accompaniments to easy airs?"