Eve's good-humor and mirth were restored by David's success, and now nothing would serve her turn but a duet, pianoforte and violin. Miss Fountain objected, “Why spoil the violin?” David objected too, “I had hoped to hear the piano-forte, and how can I with a fiddle sounding under my chin?” Eve overruled both peremptorily.
“Well, Miss Dodd, what shall we select? But it does not matter; I feel sure Mr. Dodd can play a livre ouvert.”
“Not he,” said Eve, hypocritically, being secretly convinced he could. “Can you play 'a leevre ouvert,' David?”
“Who is it by, Miss Fountain?” Lucy never moved a muscle.
After a rummage a duet was found that looked promising, and the performance began. In the middle David stopped.
“Ha! ha! David's broke down,” shrieked Eve, concealing her uneasiness under fictitious gayety. “I thought he would.”
“I beg your pardon,” explained David to Miss Fountain, “but you are out of time.”
“Am I?” said Lucy, composedly.
“And have been, more or less, all through.”
“David, you forget yourself.”