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little time or opportunity for a thorough musical education, she
had great taste, and was musical by nature; she sang her national
airs, as very few could have sung them, and so wild and pathetic
was the air she had chosen, The Flowers of the Forest, that the
roar of conversation at once ceased. She knew nothing whatever
about the listeners; the air had taken her back to her father's
recovery at Codrington the year before. She was singing to him
once more.
The old gentleman who had sat on her right hand at dinner came up
now with his first remark.
Thank you, that was a real treat, and a very rare treat. I wonder
whether you would sing an old favorite of mine 'Oh, why did ye
gang, lassie?'
Erica at once complied, and there was such pathos in her low, clear
voice, that tears stood in the eyes of more than one listener. She
had never dared to sing that song at home since one evening some
weeks before, when her father had just walked out of the room,
unable to bear the mournful refrain I never, never thought ye wad
leave me! The song was closely associated with the story of that
summer, and she sang it to perfection.
Donovan Farrant came toward her again at the close.
I want to introduce my wife to you, he said.
And Erica found that the young married lady in the paleblue silk,
whom she had singled out as the one approachable lady in the room,
was Mrs. Farrant. She was very bright, and sunshiny, and
talkative. Erica liked her, and would have liked her still better
had not the last week shown her so much of the unreality and
insincerity of society that she half doubted whether any one she
met in Greyshot could be quite true. Mrs. Farrant's manner was
charming, but charming manners had often turned out to be
exceedingly artificial, and Erica, who was in rather a hard mood,
would not let herself be won over, but held her judgment in
suspension, responding brightly enough to her companion's talk, but
keeping the best part of herself in reserve.
At length the evening ended, and the guests gradually dispersed.
Mr. Cuthbert walked across the road to his vicarage, still
chuckling to himself as he thought of the general discomfiture
caused by his question. The musical old gentleman returned to his
home revolving a startling new idea; after all, might not the
Raeburns and such people be very much like the rest of the world?
Were they not probably as susceptible to pain and pleasure, to
comfort and discomfort, to rudeness and civility? He regretted
very much that he had not broken the miserably uncomfortable
silence at dinner.

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