The flute was taken up, and, after a good many stumbles, the duet was run through very badly.
“I think you had better play the first part, and I’ll take the second, Smithson.”
“But you have studied the first part, sir, and you don’t know anything about the second.”
“No,” said the lieutenant, plaintively; “but if the second broke down, it wouldn’t be of so much consequence. Look here, Smithson, you are so strong at all this sort of thing; couldn’t you give me a lift with a note or two?—I shall only break down.”
“You will not break down, sir,” cried Smithson. “You said Friday night, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Friday; but that’s an unlucky day, isn’t it?”
“Old women say so, sir; and I’ve been as unfortunate on other days. You shall do it somehow. I’ll make you.”
“Thank you, Smithson. But I’m afraid she will not think much of it.”
“Why not, sir? The duet is sweetly pretty, and music sounds very soft and attractive in the silence of the night.”
“To be sure—so it does!”