"How well Mary plays!"
"D'you think so? I can't bear amateurs. I wish they wouldn't play."
James looked at Mrs. Clibborn quickly. It rather surprised him that she, the very silliest woman he had ever known, should say the only sensible things he had heard that day. Nor could he forget that she had done her best to prevent his engagement.
"I think you're a very wonderful woman," he said.
"Oh, Jamie!"
Mrs. Clibborn smiled and sighed, slipping forward her hand for him to take; but James was too preoccupied to notice the movement.
"I'm beginning to think you really like me," murmured Mrs. Clibborn, cooing like an amorous dove.
Then James was invited to sing, and refused.
"Please do, Jamie!" cried Mary, smiling. "For my sake. You used to sing so nicely!"
He still tried to excuse himself, but finding everyone insistent, went at last, with very bad grace, to the piano. He not only sang badly, but knew it, and was irritated that he should be forced to make a fool of himself. Mr. Dryland sang badly, but perfectly satisfied with himself, needed no pressing when his turn came. He made a speciality of old English songs, and thundered out in his most ecclesiastical manner a jovial ditty entitled, "Down Among the Dead Men."