Niel Singleton, or Keeley, as he called himself upon the stage, was quite unlike his sister.  He was short and plump, with a preternaturally solemn face, contradicted by small twinkling eyes.  He motioned Joan to a chair and told her to keep quiet and not disturb the meeting.

“Is he brainy?” he whispered after a minute.

“I like him,” said Joan.

“I didn’t ask you if you liked him,” he explained to her.  “I asked you if he was brainy.  I’m not too sure that you like brainy men.”

“Yes, I do,” said Joan.  “I like you, sometimes.”

“Now, none of that,” he said severely.  “It’s no good your thinking of me.  I’m wedded to my art.  We are talking about Mr. Halliday.”

“What does Madge think of him?” asked Joan.

“Madge has fallen in love with him, and her judgment is not to be relied upon,” he said.  “I suppose you couldn’t answer a straight question, if you tried.”

“Don’t be so harsh with me,” pleaded Joan meekly.  “I’m trying to think.  Yes,” she continued, “decidedly he’s got brains.”

“Enough for the two of them?” demanded Mr. Singleton.  “Because he will want them.  Now think before you speak.”

Joan considered.  “Yes,” she answered.  “I should say he’s just the man to manage her.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said.  “We must save her.”

“Save her from what?” demanded Joan.

“From his saying to himself:  ’This is Flossie’s idea of a party.  This is the sort of thing that, if I marry her, I am letting myself in for.’  If he hasn’t broken off the engagement already, we may be in time.”

He led the way to the piano.  “Tell Madge I want her,” he whispered.  He struck a few notes; and then in a voice that drowned every other sound in the room, struck up a comic song.

The effect was magical.

He followed it up with another.  This one with a chorus, consisting chiefly of “Umpty Umpty Umpty Umpty Ay,” which was vociferously encored.

By the time it was done with, Madge had discovered a girl who could sing “Three Little Pigs;” and a sad, pale-faced gentleman who told stories.  At the end of one of them Madge’s brother spoke to Joan in a tone more of sorrow than of anger.

“Hardly the sort of anecdote that a truly noble and high-minded young woman would have received with laughter,” he commented.

“Did I laugh?” said Joan.

“Your having done so unconsciously only makes the matter worse,” observed Mr. Singleton.  “I had hoped it emanated from politeness, not enjoyment.”

“Don’t tease her,” said Madge.  “She’s having an evening off.”

Joan and the Singletons were the last to go.  They promised to show Mr. Halliday a short cut to his hotel in Holborn.

“Have you thanked Miss Lessing for a pleasant evening?” asked Mr. Singleton, turning to Mr. Halliday.

He laughed and put his arm round her.  “Poor little woman,” he said.  “You’re looking so tired.  It was jolly at the end.”  He kissed her.