I really can't manage the accompaniment."

Errington rose and crossed the room to the piano.

"Will you allow me to take your place?" he said pleasantly. "That is, if
Miss Quentin permits? It is hard lines to be suddenly called upon to
read accompaniments if you are not accustomed to it."

"Oh, do you play?" exclaimed Joan, vacating her seat gladly. "Then
please do. I feel as if I were committing murder when I stumble through
Diana's songs."

She joined the Rector at the far end of the room, adding with a smile:--

"I make a much better audience than performer."

"What shall it be?" said Errington, turning over the pile of songs.

"What you like," returned Diana indifferently. She was rather pale, and
her hand shook a little as she fidgeted restlessly with a sheet of music.
It almost seemed as though the projected change of accompanist were
distasteful to her.

Max laid his own hand over hers an instant.

"Please let me play for you," he said simply.

There was a note of appeal in his voice--rather as if he were seeking to
soften her resentment against him, and would regard the permission to
accompany her as a token of forgiveness. She met his glance, wavered a