h an acid little speech. He could not know, of course, that Kitty's
light-hearted remark concerning Peter Mallory's facilities for studying
the feminine temperament was still rankling somewhere at the back of
her mind.

"There's a big element of pathos in those farewell concerts," he
submitted gently. "You pianists have a great advantage over the
singer, whose instrument must inevitably deteriorate with the passing
years."

Nan's quick sympathies responded instantly.

"I think I must be getting soured in my old age," she answered
remorsefully. "What you say is dreadfully true. It's the saddest part
of a singer's career. And I always clap my hardest at a farewell
concert. I do, really!"

Fenton smiled down at her.

"I shall count on you, then, when I give mine."

Nan laughed.

"It's a solemn pledge--provided I'm still cumbering the ground. And
now, tell me, are you singing here this evening?"

"I promised Mrs. Seymour. Would you be good enough to accompany?"

"I should love it. What are you going to sing?"

"Miss Craig and I proposed to give a duet."

"And here comes Kitty--to claim your promise, I guess."

A few minutes later the two singers' voices were blending delightfully
together, while Nan's slight, musician's fingers threaded their way
through intricacies of the involved accompaniment.

She was a wonderful accompanist--rarest of gifts--and when, at the end
of the song, the restrained, well-bred applause broke out, Peter
Mallory's share of it was offered as much to the accompanist as to the
singers themselves.

"Stay where you are, Nan," cried Kitty, as the girl half rose from the
music-seat. "Stay where you are and play us something."

Knowing Nan's odd liking for a dim light, she switched off most of the
burners as she spoke, leaving only one or two heavily shaded lights
still glowing. Mallory crossed the room so that, as he stood leaning
with one elbow on the chimney-piece, he faced the player, on whose
aureole of dusky hair one of the lights still burning cast a glimmer.
While he waited for her to begin, he was aware of a little unaccustomed
thrill of excitement, as though he were on the verge of some discovery.

Hesitatingly Nan touched a chord or two. Then without further preamble
she broke into the strange, suggestive music which Penelope had
described as representing the murder of a soul. It opened joyously,
the calm beginnings of a happy spirit; then came a note of warning