ignify."

Billy was silent for a moment, her eyes gravely studying his face. Then
she asked:

"Were you long--on that stairway?"

"Eh? What? Oh!" Cyril's forehead grew suddenly pink. "Well?" he finished
a little aggressively.

"Oh, nothing," smiled the girl. "Of course people who live in glass
houses must not throw stones."

"Very well then, I did listen," acknowledged the man, testily. "I liked
what you were playing. I hoped, down-stairs later, that you'd play it
again; but you didn't. I came to-day to hear it."

Again Billy's heart sung within her--but again her temper rose, too.

"I don't think I feel like it," she said sweetly, with a shake of her
head. "Not to-day."

For a brief moment Cyril stared frowningly; then his face lighted with
his rare smile.

"I'm fairly checkmated," he said, rising to his feet and going straight
to the piano.

For long minutes he played, modulating from one enchanting composition
to another, and finishing with the one "all chords with big bass notes"
that marched on and on--the one Billy had sat long ago on the stairs to
hear.

"There! Now will you play for me?" he asked, rising to his feet, and
turning reproachful eyes upon her.

Billy, too, rose to her feet. Her face was flushed and her eyes were
shining. Her lips quivered with emotion. As was always the case, Cyril's
music had carried her quite out of herself.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," she sighed. "You don't know--you can't know
how beautiful it all is--to me!"

"Thank you. Then surely now you'll play to me," he returned.

A look of real distress came to Billy's face.

"But I can't--not what you heard the other day," she cried remorsefully.
"You see, I was--only improvising."

Cyril turned quickly.

"Only improvising! Billy, did you ever write it down--any of your
improvising?"

An embarrassed red flew to Billy's face.

"Not--not that amounted to--well, that is, some--a little," she
stammered.

"Let me see it."

"No, no, I couldn't--not YOU!"

Again the rare smile lighted Cyril's eyes.

"Billy, let me see that paper--please."

Very slowly the girl turned toward the music cabinet. She hesitated,
glanced once more appealingly into Cyril's face, then with nervous haste
opened the little mahogany door and took from one of the shelves a sheet
of manuscript music. But, like a shy child with her first copy book, she
held it half behind her back as she came toward the piano.

"Thank you," said Cyril as