Someone was playing the Soldiers' March out of _Faust_ on the old cracked schoolroom piano, which was rising nobly to the occasion.
Mr.Lorimer moved at length and turned his head.

"Who is that playing ?" "Piers Evesham," whispered Mrs.Lorimer.She was weeping softly and dared not stir lest he should discover the fact.
There was a deep, vertical line between Mr.Lorimer's brows.

"And what may Piers Evesham be doing here ?" he enquired.
"He comes often--to see Jeanie," murmured his wife deprecatingly.
He laughed unpleasantly.

"A vast honour for Jeanie!" Two tears fell from Mrs.Lorimer's eyes.

She began to feel furtively for her handkerchief.
"And Dr.Lennox Tudor,"-- he pronounced the name with elaborate care,--"he comes--often--for the same reason, I presume ?" "He--he came to see me yesterday," faltered Mrs.Lorimer.
"Indeed!" The word was as water dropped from an icicle.
She dabbed her eyes and bravely turned and faced him.