"Thanks! But the idea is too absurd. Fancy my singing at a 'missionary meeting.'"

 

"Perhaps Isabel would," interposed Rose.

 

"The idea is too absurd," returned Emily, affectedly.

 

"Don't be impertinent, Emily," said Grace, haughtily. "It is useless to talk of Isabel, she added, addressing Rose, "she refused before, and Everard would not be so absurd as to ask her again; he was quite pressing enough--far too much so for my taste."

 

"I'm not so sure he won't; he will not easily give up his 'pet anthem,'" replied Emily.

 

"Well, Isabel will not do it, you will see," answered Grace.

 

"I'm not so sure of that, either; he usually gets his own way somehow or other."

 

"Then how was it he did not succeed at first?" said Grace, tartly.

 

"Oh, because Isabel made him believe that it would not be fair to Miss Cleaver."

 

"Oh, Emily, that was not why Isabel would not, and she never said it was," exclaimed Alice; "she told Everard she had several reasons for not singing, and, she added, it would not be fair to Miss Cleaver after being in the choir so long."

 

"And pray what might these weighty reasons be?" asked Grace.

 

"I don't know," returned Alice.

 

"Nor Isabel, either, I imagine," Grace answered.

 

"What are you so perturbed about, Emily?" asked Isabel, who now joined them."

 

"The choir are in trouble about the anthem."

 

"How is that?" inquired Isabel.

 

"Mary Cleaver is sick," returned Emily, "and Everard is awfully put out about it."

 

Everard entered with a roll of music in his hand.

 

"Where is Miss Leicester?" he asked.

 

"She is here," Grace answered, languidly.

 

"You will not now refuse to take the soprano in the anthem to-morrow, he said, when I tell you that it is utterly impossible for Miss Cleaver to do so, and that the anthem must be omitted unless you will sing."

 

"I am sorry that the anthem should be a failure, but I really cannot," replied Isabel, evidently annoyed.

 

"Oh, yes you can--just this once," he pleaded.

 

But Isabel only shook her head.

 

"Do you mean, Miss Leicester, that you positively will not?" he asked.

 

"Seriously, Mr. Arlington, I do not intend to sing in the choir to-morrow."

 

"That is your final decision?"

 

"Yes."

 

He sat beating his foot impatiently on the ground.

 

"Is there no one else? Everard" asked Rose.

 

"No one!" he answered, in a very decided tone.

 

He tossed the music idly in his hand, though his brow contracted, and the veins in his forehead swelled like cords. They were very quiet; no one spoke. Emily enjoyed this little scene immensely, but Grace was highly disgusted that her brother should deign to urge a request which had already been denied, and that, too, by the governess; while Isabel sat, thinking how very kind Everard had always been, and how ill-natured it seemed to refuse--how much she wished to oblige--but the thing was so distasteful that she felt very averse to comply. She remembered, too, the beautiful flowers with which Alice had kept her vases constantly supplied when she was recovering from her illness; she knew full well to whom she was indebted for them, as but one person in the house dare cull the choicest flowers with such a lavish hand,

 

"What are you waiting for, Everard?" Emily inquired, at length.

 

"For Isabel to relent," said Grace, contemptuously.

 

Everard rose, and stood for a moment irresolute; then, going to the piano, set up the music, and, turning to Isabel, said in a tone of deep earnestness: "Will you oblige me by just trying this, Miss Leicester?"

 

Grace's lip curled scornfully, and Isabel reluctantly seated herself at the piano. Having once commenced, she thought of nothing but the beauty of the anthem, and sung with her whole soul--her full, rich voice filling the room with melody. Never had Isabel sung like this since she had left her happy home. When she ceased they all crowded round her, entreating her to take Miss Cleaver's place just this once.

 

"She will--she must!" ex............