"Thank you; your confidence would not be misplaced, when in honor bound I have ever felt as though I did not belong to myself."
"I should judge so; underlying your gaiety conscientiousness holds you to an extent few would dream of; you have frequently sacrificed yourself to a mistaken sense of duty. Am I not right?"
"Yes; I have been a slave to what I used to think the voice of conscience, but which I am now sure was extreme sensitiveness, and a sort of moral cowardice; but how strange you should read me so truly."
"Not at all, I am a phrenologist; if you will allow me the very great privilege, I shall read your character to you in some quiet hour."
"With very great pleasure. And now will you do me another favor? Make my piano sing and speak to us."
"Thank you; I should like to try your instrument. It is from Mason & Risch, I see."
Having arranged a table at whist and euchre, Mrs. Gower seated herself to enjoy the entrancing music, while looking over some photographs to amuse the boy Noah St. Clair, but it was not to be, for the voice of Mr. Cobbe said in her ear:
"This won't do; you must come to the library with me; I have not had a single word with you all evening, and am, as you are aware, an uninvited guest."
"Why invite you, Philip? Alas! there is invariably discord with your presence," she says sadly, in the lowest of tones, moving away from the curious gaze of the boy.
"Sit here, Elaine, if you positively refuse to leave the room with me," he said excitedly, indicating a tête-à-tête sofa not within ear-shot of her guests, managing to detain her until, the hours creeping on apace, freighted with the music of soft laughter, and ravishing songs without words by the skilled performer, Mr. Buckingham, when pretty Mrs. Dale's sweet voice is heard, as she rises from the table, saying triumphantly: