hemmed Emilia in. They had a method of treating matters they did not
countenance, as if nature had never conceived them, and such were the
monstrous issue of diseased imaginations. It was hard for Emilia to hear
that what she designed to do was "utterly out of the question and not to
be for one moment thought of." She reiterated, with the same interpreting
stress, that she had given her promise.

"Do you know, I praised you for putting them off so cleverly," said Adela
in tones of gentle reproach that bewildered Emilia.

"Must we remind you, then, that you are bound by a previous promise?"
Cornelia made a counter-demonstration with the word. "Have you not
promised to dine with us at Lady Gosstre's to-night?"

"Oh, of course I shall keep that," replied Emilia. "I intend to. I will
sing there, and then I will go and sing to those poor people, who never
hear anything but dreadful music--not music at all, but something that
seems to tear your flesh!"

"Never mind our flesh," said Adela pettishly: melodiously remonstrating
the next instant: "I really thought you could not be in earnest."

"But," said Arabella, "can you find pleasure in wasting your voice and
really great capabilities on such people?"

Emilia caught her up--"This poor man? But he loves music: he really
knows the good from the bad. He never looks proud but when I sing to
him."

The situation was one that Cornelia particularly enjoyed. Here was a low