"Oh, Mr. Hubert!" said Margaret laughing.
Elizabeth Gage did not say one word either for or against Blanche Somerton. She knew her to be almost devoid of good qualities; but she knew that people, men especially, will always form their own opinion.
"You shall sing, little one;" said Harriet to Margaret after tea. "I will not let you off any longer."
"No. It distresses her, Harriet," said Elizabeth kindly, "I never press her."
"I dare say. Is she to have her own way always? I want to hear the quality of her voice," said Harriet positively.
"Indeed, Harriet, I am not a man; you might let me have my way," said Margaret, shrinking back from the piano.
"My dear Harriet, I hope you apply that remark; there is a little bit of unconscious satire in it," said Elizabeth.
"Bah! there is no truth in it. I never tyrannise," said Harriet, laughing. "But as I am not so timid, I will try and sing you something. Mr. Gage, you like Italian music. Have you ever heard this?"
She sang beautifully. Margaret was entranced.
Mr. Gage came round to the piano to look at the name of the song. It was 'Senza pace, senza speme;' and on the top was written, as if with a coarse lead pencil:—