I love, love, love all your stuff, but this is, like, one of my favorite things EVER. I really couldn't pick a single paragraph from that scene, so YOU NEED TO DO A COMMENTARY FOR ALL OF IT.

Leightley's second verse was still soft and self-conscious, but Laurence's pleasure was undiminished: how, he wondered, could he have forgotten music, and how he loved it? He joined Hunt, barely aware of what he was doing, in singing another verse, and paid no notice when Leightley moved back to allow them to sing the whole song through again without her, Hunt's surprisingly rich baritone on the woman's part less jarring that it might have been.

After that, it was only natural to play through the other two songs together, and then a trio which Shadwell laughingly produced, claiming they had long been short a proper tenor and Laurence could not deny them now that they had found him. All in all nearly an hour passed before Laurence came back to himself, at the thoroughly unwelcome awareness that he had just addressed Lieutenant Robbins as Edith.

He could have been at home, for that hour, passing the time after supper with his mother and Edith and their friends. Really it was not such a strange slip to make, and Robbins had hardly been offended; he was not even certain she had noticed. But having realized why he felt so comfortable in the laughing circle around the pianoforte, it was impossible not to follow the realization to other, less pleasant recollections: that he would never see his mother again; that Edith had married Woolvey; that Woolvey was dead. Hunt was beaming at Bell, brighter than the candlelight, and Leightley's grudgingly tolerant expression was belied by the loose clasp of her fingers around Shadwell's wrist; all of Laurence's simple joy in the music was gone, and he was unendurably lonely.