Meantime Lucy Fountain’s face would have interested a subtle student of her sex.

Her sensibility to music was great, and the feeling strains stole into her nature, and stirred the treasures of the deep to the surface.  Eve, a keen if not a profound observer, was struck by the rising beauty of this countenance, over which so many moods chased one another.  She said to herself:  “Well, David is right, after all; she is a lovely girl.  Her features are nothing out of the way.  Her nose is neither one thing nor the other, but her expression is beautiful.  None of your wooden faces for me.  And, dear heart, how her neck rises!  La! how her color comes and goes!  Well, I do love the fiddle myself dearly; and now, if her eyes are not brimming; I could kiss her!  La!  David,” cried she, bursting the bounds of silence, “that is enough of the tune the old cow died of; take and play something to keep our hearts up—­do.”

Eve’s good-humor and mirth were restored by David’s success, and now nothing would serve her turn but a duet, pianoforte and violin.  Miss Fountain objected, “Why spoil the violin?” David objected too, “I had hoped to hear the piano-forte, and how can I with a fiddle sounding under my chin?” Eve overruled both peremptorily.

“Well, Miss Dodd, what shall we select?  But it does not matter; I feel sure Mr. Dodd can play a livre ouvert."

“Not he,” said Eve, hypocritically, being secretly convinced he could.  “Can you play ‘a leevre ouvert,’ David?”

“Who is it by, Miss Fountain?” Lucy never moved a muscle.

After a rummage a duet was found that looked promising, and the performance began.  In the middle David stopped.

“Ha! ha!  David’s broke down,” shrieked Eve, concealing her uneasiness under fictitious gayety.  “I thought he would.”

“I beg your pardon,” explained David to Miss Fountain, “but you are out of time.”

“Am I?” said Lucy, composedly.

“And have been, more or less, all through.”

“David, you forget yourself.”

“No, no; set me right, by all means, Mr. Dodd.  I am not a hardened offender.”

“Is it not just possible the violin may be the instrument that is out of time?” suggested Talboys, insidiously.

“No,” said David, simply, “I was right enough.”

“Let us try again, Mr. Dodd.  Play me a few bars first in exact time.  Thank you.  Now.”

“All went merry as a marriage bell” for a page and a half; then David, fiddling away, cried out, “You are getting too fast; ’ri tum tiddy, iddy ri tum ti;” then, by stamping and accenting very strongly, he kept the piano from overflowing its bounds.  The piece ended.  Eve rubbed her hands.  “Now you’ll catch it, Mr. David!”

“I am afraid I gave you a great deal of trouble, Mr. Dodd.”

"En revanche, you gave us a great deal of pleasure,” put in Mr. Talboys.

Lucy turned her head and smiled graciously.  “But piano-forte players play so much by themselves, they really forget the awful importance of time.”