dear. As for environment,
you can make it what you choose," he said. "Don't you realize that?
Whatever you choose, Jacqueline."

"Can I?" Her eyes met his in a long gaze. The languor of the music was
still in them, but he saw another expression growing there, a grave and
womanly sweetness. "I wonder--" The hand under his turned so that the
warm fingers clasped his.

At that moment the discreet servant entered with a small bottle wrapped
in a napkin. Channing withdrew his hand abruptly.

"Of course you can!" he smiled and lifted a glass shaped like a lily,
filled with sparkling gold. "To your future career!" he said, and drank.

She echoed the toast, "To my future career."

Perhaps the career she had in mind was not entirely an operatic one,
however.

Very shortly afterwards, he took her home. She went rather reluctantly,
glancing in at the music-room with a wistful sigh. But he was adamant.
He had no idea of arousing maternal watchfulness.

"I wish we had time for a little more music," she said.

"We shall have a great deal more music before we are done with each
other, little girl," he assured her.

She answered naively, "But it will never be quite like this again. The
next time I come, Mr. Farwell will probably be here."

Channing laughed. "I can promise you he won't! Morty's an awfully good
sort, and not keen on music. We shall have his music-room to ourselves
whenever we like."

She nestled against him in the machine confidingly, feeling the reaction
of the day's excitement, and perhaps of the champagne, to which Basil
Kildare's daughter had taken very kindly.

"I feel so tired all of a sudden," she murmured. "Do you mind if I put
my head on your shoulder?"

Channing did not mind. "Make yourself comfortable!"

She lay there, gazing up happily at the stars that were beginning to
show in the wide curve of the sky, and singing under her breath,

"When you come to the end of a perfect day--"

"I wish," she said presently, half to herself, "that this day could just
have gone on forever."

Channing did not answer. He was beginning to congratulate himself on the
self-control that kept his hands to the steering-wheel. Jacqueline,
drowsy and sweet as a tired child, was rather hard to resist; but
Channing had certain inconvenient ideas as to the duties of a host and a
gentleman, ideas that were the sole remnant of a careful New England
upbringing.

She lapsed into contented silence, and they did not