Was it possible for any man with a drop of warm blood flowing through his veins, not to feel a quicker heart-beat, a swifter pulse, at the entrancing, half-melancholy, half-mocking sweetness she infused into these lines?

    “Je pars, et sur ma levre ardente
     Brule encor ton dernier baiser. 
     Entre mes bras, chere imprudente
     Ton beau front vient de reposer. 
     Sens-tu mon coeur, comme il palpite? 
     Le tien, comme il battait gaiment!

    Je m’en vais pourtant, ma petite,
     Bien loin, bien vite
     Tourjours t’aimant! 
     Adieu, Suzon!”

With the passion, fire and exquisite abandon of her singing of this verse in tones of such youthful freshness and fervour as could scarcely be equalled and never surpassed, Adderley could no longer restrain himself, and crying ‘Brava!—­brava!  Bravissima!’ fell to clapping his hands in the wildest ecstasy.  Walden, less demonstrative, was far more moved.  Something quite new and strange to his long fixed habit and temperament had insidiously crept over him,—­and being well accustomed to self-analysis, he was conscious of the fact, and uneasy at finding himself in the grip of an emotion to which he could give no name.  Therefore, he was glad when,—­the music being ended, and when he had expressed his more or less incoherent praise and thanks to Cicely for the delight her wonderful gift had afforded him,—­he could plead some business in the village as an excuse to take his departure.  Maryllia very sweetly bade him come again.

“As often as you like,”—­she said—­“And I want you to promise me one thing, Mr. Walden!—­you must consent to meet some of my London friends here one evening to dinner.”

She had given him her hand in parting, and he was holding it in his own.

“I’m afraid I should be very much in the way, Miss Vancourt,”—­he replied, with a grave smile—­“I am not a social acquisition by any means!  I live very much alone,—­and a solitary life, I think, suits me best.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, and withdrew her hand.

“That means that you do not care to come,”—­she said, simply—­“I am so sorry you do not like me!”

The blood rushed up to his brows.

“Miss Vancourt!” he stammered—­“Pray—­pray do not think—–­”

But here she turned aside to receive Adderley’s farewells and thanks for the charming afternoon he had spent in her company.  After this, and when Julian had made his exit, accompanied by Cicely who wanted him to give her a written copy of certain verses he had composed, Maryllia again spoke: 

“Well, at any rate, I shall send you an invitation to one of my parties, whether you come or not, Mr. Walden;” she said, playfully—­ “Otherwise, I shall feel I have not done my social duty to the minister of the parish!  It will be for some evening during the next three weeks.  I hope you will be able to accept it.  If not—–­”