Then came Nevin again, Billy still playing the accompaniment.

Next followed a duet.

Billy did not consider herself much of a singer, but her voice was sweet and true, and not without training.
It blended very prettily with the clear, pure tenor.
William and Aunt Hannah still smiled contentedly in their chairs, though Aunt Hannah had reached for the pink shawl near her--the music had sent little shivers down her spine.

Cyril, with Marie, had slipped into the little reception-room across the hall, ostensibly to look at some plans for a house, although--as everybody knew--they were not intending to build for a year.
Bertram, still sitting stiffly erect in his chair, was not conscious of a vague irritation now.

He was conscious of a very real, and a very decided one--an irritation that was directed against himself, against Billy, and against this man, Arkwright; but chiefly against music, _per se_.