quoted the vicar, in his rolling bass.
"I prefer the sweet harmony of the spinet to the lyre," said Beaumont, smiling.
"Dear me, vicar," observed Mrs. Larcher angrily. "I wish you wouldn't be always talking Latin. No one understands it."
"That's hardly a compliment to the gentlemen present, my dear," said Dr. Larcher in his most stately manner, "but, as Horace says, 'Oh, mater pulchra'----I beg your pardon, I will refrain from the bard."
"Now, Mr. Blake, I want you to sing something," said Una, crossing over to Pumpkin.
"Certainly--some old English melody, I suppose, to match the spinet. 'Phyllida flouts me,' or 'Mistress mine where are you roaming?'"
"Let us have them both," said Beaumont, lazily. "Very likely the ghosts of the old Elizabethan lyrists will come and listen."
"You'll see a real ghost shortly," said Una mysteriously, as she and Pumpkin, after a whispered consultation, moved to the door.
"The ghost of whom?" asked Reginald, who was standing by the spinet.
"Lady Betty Modish or Sophia Western--which ever you like--town or country," replied Una, laughing, and thereupon vanished with Miss Larcher.