“I’ll not take advantage of that, as I am only a workman myself,” said Conolly. “I had rather leave the song out than accompany myself.”
“Pray dont suppose that I wish to be disagreeable, Mr. Lind,” said Miss McQuinch, as the company looked doubtfully at her; “but I have disgraced myself too completely to trust my fingers again. I should spoil the song if I played the accompaniment.”
“I think you might try, Nell,” said Marmaduke, reproachfully.
“I might,” retorted Miss McQuinch; “but I wont.”
“If somebody doesnt go out and do something, there will be a shindy,” said Marmaduke.
Marian hesitated a moment and then rose. “I am a very indifferent player,” she said; “but since no better is to be had, I will venture—if Mr. Conolly will trust me.”
Conolly bowed.
“If you would rather not,” said Miss McQuinch, shamed into remorse, “I will try the accompaniment. But I am sure to play it all wrong.”
“I think Miss McQuinch had better play,” said Douglas.
Conolly looked at Marian; received a reassuring glance; and went to the platform with her without further ado. She was not a sympathetic accompanist; but, not knowing this, she was not at all put out by it. She felt too that she was, as became a lady, giving the workman a lesson in courtesy which might stand him in stead when he next accompanied “Rose, softly blooming.” She was a little taken aback on finding that he not only had a rich baritone voice, but was, as far as she could judge, an accomplished singer.