“Do you know,” he was saying, as they walked along together, “that I have grown quite used to the solitariness of this neighborhood?  I don’t find it strange, or melancholy, or oppressive any longer.  I suppose when I get back to a crowded city, the roar of it will be absolutely bewildering; indeed, I am looking forward with a good deal of interest to seeing something of the world again at Kilfearn—­which can’t be a very big place either.”

“Oh, are you going to the opening of the Kilfearn Town Hall?” she asked.

“Yes,” said he, with a little surprise, “I thought everybody was going.  Aren’t you?  I understood the whole world—­of Ross-shire—­was to be there, and that I was to make a sudden plunge into a perfect whirlpool of human life.”

“It will amuse you,” she said, with a quiet smile.  “You will see all the county families there, staring at one another’s guests; and you will hear a lot of songs, like ‘My Pretty Jane’ and ‘Ever of Thee,’ sung by bashful young ladies.  At the opening of the proceedings my brother Hugh will make a speech; he is their chairman, and I know precisely what he will say.  Hugh always speaks to the point.  It will be something like this:  ’Ladies and gentlemen, I am glad to see you here to-night.  We still want L180.  We mean to give two more concerts to clear the debt right off.  You must all come and bring your friends.  I will not longer stand in the way of the performers who have kindly volunteered their services.’”

“And that is a most admirable speech,” her companion exclaimed.  “It says everything that is wanted and nothing more; I call it a model speech!”

“Mr. Moore,” she said, suddenly looking up, “are you going to sing at the concert?”

“I believe so,” he answered.

“What are you going to sing?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet.  Whatever I am asked for.  Lady Adela is arranging the programme.”  And then he added, rather breathlessly, “Is there anything you would care to have me sing?”

“Well, to tell you the truth,” said she, quite frankly, “I hardly intended going.  But if I thought there was a chance of hearing you sing some such song as ‘The Bonnie Earl o’ Moray,’ I would go.”

“‘The Bonnie Earl o’ Moray?’” he said, eagerly.  “The song that Miss Lestrange sang the other night?”

“The song that Miss Lestrange made a fool of the other night,” she said, contemptuously.  “But if you were to sing it, you would make it very fine and impressive.  I should like to hear you sing that in a large hall.”

“Oh, but certainly I will sing it!” he said, quickly, for he was only too rejoiced that she should prefer this small request, as showing that she did take some little interest in him and what he could do.  “I will make a stipulation that I sing it, if I sing anything.  Miss Lestrange won’t mind, I know.”