from one of his fair auditors to the other, as he stood facing them, with his back to the fire.
"I have heard the song; it is pretty, but I don't know what it means. I like to understand the words, and I don't speak Italian."
"Oh, it is an appeal from a fellow in prison to the woman he loves not to forget him. It's awfully touching, I think."
"So do I," responded Mrs. Shaw, warmly. "When the tenor who sings it behind the scenes is good-looking, I always feel choky."
"If he is behind the scenes, I shouldn't think it signified what he is like," said Elizabeth.
"Dear Bessie! you are not sentimental. When I have once seen the man, if he is a short, stout, puddingylooking creature, all the romance is over. He may sing like an angel, he can't affect me."
"Drat that girl!" cried Coco, irrelevantly, from his perch.
"You darling!" laughed Mrs. Shaw. "I'm not the kitchenmaid."
"I am afraid the remark was addressed to me," echoed Elizabeth.
"Molly is such a terrible one for good looks," said Uncle William, slyly, glancing with a smile at the figure opposite him, who leant against the mantelpiece, standing on one leg, and warming the other at the fire. The face was half in light, half in shadow. Elizabeth longed to paint him as he stood there.
But the dressing-gong for dinner sounded; and Mrs. Shaw started up, without replying to her husband's sally.
