"The audience," observed Lord Rockminster, who, at a little distance,
was lying back in a garden-chair, smoking a cigarette--"the audience
would distinctly prefer to have the song sung."

Lady Sybil again gave him the key-note from the violin; and, without
further accompaniment, he thus addressed his forsaken sweetheart:

"You say at your feet that I wept in despair,
And vow'd that no angel was ever so fair?
How could you believe all the nonsense I spoke?
What know we of angels? I meant it in joke,
I meant it in joke;
What know we of angels? I meant it in joke."

When, in his rich, vibrating notes, he had sung the two verses, all the
ladies rewarded him by clapping their hands, which was an exceedingly
wrong thing to do, considering that they formed no part of the audience.
Then _Damon_ says,

"To-day Demætus gives a rural treat,
And I once more my chosen friends must meet:
Farewell, sweet damsel, and remember this,
Dull repetition deadens all our bliss."

And Laura sadly answers,

"Where baleful cypress forms a gloomy shade,
And yelling spectres haunt the dreary glade,
Unknown to all, my lonesome steps I'll bend,
There weep my suff'rings, and my fate attend."