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42 "It's nothing but practice," answered Miss Featherweight, with a modest blush; "I am at the piano four hours every day."

"Oh, Lord," groaned Felix, "what a time the family must have of it;" but he kept this remark to himself, and, screwing his eye-glass into his left organ of vision, merely ejaculated, "Lucky piano!"

Miss Featherweight, not being able to think of any answer to this, looked down and blushed, while the ingenious Felix looked up and sighed.

Madge and Brian were in one corner of the room, talking together about Whyte's death.

"I never did like him," she said, "but it was horrible to think of him dying like that."

"I don't know," answered Brian, gloomily; "from all I can hear, chloroform is a very easy death."

"Death can never be easy," replied Madge, "especially to a young man so full of health and spirits as Mr. Whyte was."

"I believe you are sorry he's dead," said Brian, jealously.

"Aren't you?" she asked, in some surprise.

"De mortius nil nisi bonum," quoted Fitzgerald; "but as I detested him when alive, you can't expect me to regret his end."

Madge did not answer him, but glanced quickly at his face, and for the first time it struck her that he looked ill.

"What is the matter with you, dear?" she asked, placing her hand on his arm. "You are not looking well."

"Nothing—nothing," he answered hurriedly. "I've been a little worried about business lately—but come," he said, rising, "let us go outside, for I see your father has got that girl with the steam-whistle voice to sing."

The girl with the steamwhistle voice was Julia Featherweight, the sister of Rolleston's inamorata, and Madge stifled a laugh as she went out on to the verandah with Fitzgerald.

"What a shame of you," she said, bursting into a laugh, when they were safely outside; "she's been taught by the best masters."

"How I pity them," retorted Brian, grimly, as Julia wailed out, "Meet me once again," with an ear-piercing