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“Would you rather I said it to others than to you? No, because that would do you no good——”

“And do you really think that I—I——” Why should she laugh? Young Purcell’s face brightened slightly, but took a still more curious look of bewildered inquiry. As for the Signor, he thought she had become hysterical, which he believed was a common weakness with womankind in general, and he was alarmed.

“I beg you a thousand pardons if I have seemed rude,” he said. “All that I wanted was to begin the conversation; for I have—a little proposal to make.”

“Do you call that beginning a conversation to tell me I am quite ignorant, and cannot sing, and waste my voice?” said Lottie, recovering her indignation. “It is not a very civil way.”

“Miss Despard, I think you will miss the society’s singing, and I want to tell you it was not good for you. These people were dazzled by your voice,” said the organist, with unintentional confusion of metaphor, “and they made use of it. All these fine people, they make use of us, and often forget to say ‘thank you.’ I was sorry that you should suffer, too; so was Purcell; he knows what it is—a little. And you have had no teaching, you have not had a thorough professional training as he has——”