the little piano for a moment with a roll of
music in her hand, and looked at Hubert questioningly.

"Shall I play my own accompaniment?" she asked.

"I never thought of that; I could have judged better of your voice if we
had had an accompanist," said her host. "I could play for you myself if
you liked."

"No; I will do it," said Cynthia decidedly, "Go to the other end of the
room, will you, please, Mr. Lepel? You will hear me better there."

There was a pretty air of command about her which amused Mr. Lepel. This
young woman, he reflected, as he took up the position which she had
recommended, was not one who would be contented with a secondary
position anywhere. She evidently considered herself born to rule. Well,
he would do her bidding; he had no objection to the rule of a pretty
woman! He was not disposed to take Miss Cynthia West and her singing
very seriously--as yet.

Cynthia seated herself at the piano, while Hubert flung himself into an
easy-chair at the farther end of the room, and crossed his arms behind
his head in an attitude of attention and endurance, which showed that he
was not expecting much and was prepared to bear the worst. For the
singing of an average girl of eighteen or nineteen, with an ambition to
appear on a public stage, is apt to be trying to the sensibilities of
the true music-lover; and Hubert Lepel was no mean critic of the art.

Cynthia played a few opening bars, and then began to sing a popular
ballad of the day. When she had finished it, she did not look round, but
went on fingering the notes, gliding gradually into another key. Then
suddenly she broke out into a fine old Italian aria, which she sang with
much fire and expression, availing herself of every opportunity of
_fioriture_ and _cadenza_ afforded by the song. And thence, with only a
few bars of symphony between, she launched herself upon one of
Schubert's most passionate love-songs, and sang it in a style which
brought the listener to his feet at its close in a musical rapture that
almost defied expression.

"Why, good heavens," cried Hubert, with something not unlike a gasp,
"who on earth taught you to sing like that? And your voice--do you know,
Miss West, that your voice is simply magnificent?"

Cynthia kept her head down, and continued to finger the notes--mutely
this time.

"I have been told that I might be able to sing at private concerts," she
said demurely.

"Private concerts! You might sing at Her Majest