he while to Cornish she instinctively played the role of
womanly little girl.

"Up by the festive lamp, everybody!" Dwight Herbert cried.

As they gathered about the upright piano, that startled, Dwightish
instrument, standing in its attitude of unrest, Lulu came in with
another lamp.

"Do you need this?" she asked.

They did not need it, there was, in fact, no place to set it, and this
Lulu must have known. But Dwight found a place. He swept Ninian's
photograph from the marble shelf of the mirror, and when Lulu had placed
the lamp there, Dwight thrust the photograph into her hands.

"You take care of that," he said, with a droop of lid discernible only
to those who--presumably--loved him. His old attitude toward Lulu had
shown a terrible sharpening in these ten days since her return.

She stood uncertainly, in the thin black and white gown which Ninian had
bought for her, and held Ninian's photograph and looked helplessly
about. She was moving toward the door when Cornish called:

"See here! Aren't _you_ going to sing?"

"What?" Dwight used the falsetto. "Lulu sing? _Lulu_?"

She stood awkwardly. She had a piteous recrudescence of her old agony at
being spoken to in the presence of others. But Di had opened the "Album
of Old Favourites," which Cornish had elected to bring, and now she
struck the opening chords of "Bonny Eloise." Lulu stood still, looking
rather piteously at Cornish. Dwight offered his arm, absurdly crooked.
The Plows and Ina and Di began to sing. Lulu moved forward, and stood a
little away from them, and sang, too. She was still holding Ninian's
picture. Dwight did not sing. He lifted his shoulders and his eyebrows
and watched Lulu.

When they had finished, "Lulu the mocking bird!" Dwight cried. He said
"ba-ird."

"Fine!" cried Cornish. "Why, Miss Lulu, you have a good voice!"

"Miss Lulu Bett, the mocking ba-ird!" Dwight insisted.

Lulu was excited, and in some accession of faint power. She turned to
him now, quietly, and with a look of appraisal.

"Lulu the dove," she then surprisingly said, "to put up with you."

It was her first bit of conscious repartee to her brother-in-law.

Cornish was bending over Di.

"What next do you say?" he asked.

She lifted her eyes, met his own, held them. "There's such a lovely,
lovely sacred song here," she suggested, and looked down.

"You like sacred music?"

She turned to him her pure profile, her eyelids fluttering up, and said:
"I love i