her post.

'Some music, Ave,' said Leonard, with an instinctive dread of her
conversation.

She knew her voice was past singing, and began one of her most
renowned instrumental pieces, which she could play as mechanically as
a musical-box.

'Not that jingling airified thing!' cried Leonard, 'I want something
quiet and refreshing. There's an evening hymn that the Mays have.'

'The Mays know nothing of music,' said Averil.

'Stay, this is it:' and he whistled a few bars.

'That old thing! Of course I know that. We had it every Sunday at
Brighton.'

She began it, but her eyes were full of tears, partly because she
hated herself for the irritation she had betrayed. She was a sound,
good, honest-hearted girl; but among all the good things she had
learned at Brighton, had not been numbered the art of ruling her own
spirit.




CHAPTER IV