mechanically arranging the
pieces. Then he swept them impatiently into a heap and made as if to
arise. She leaned forward suddenly and again laid her hand on his arm.

"The wolf subject is an interesting one to me. It is really a pity that
I will not be accorded an opportunity of studying them in their native
haunts. If it were not for your, to us, unfortunate obligations
elsewhere, I should devote quite a portion of my time to the pursuit of
more definite information about them."

His hot hand almost burned hers. "Why shouldn't you investigate the
matter if you want to? Your husband is going to buy the VN ranch!" In
silence more eloquent than words she gave him her hand.

After a few desultory minutes with the group about the fireplace, he
strolled over to the piano. Grace welcomed him shyly, her touch on the
keys a little uncertain as in compliance with her request he sang to her
accompaniment the Toreador song from Carmen. The request was an
inspiration on her part, she never having heard him sing before, and she
had preferred it only to cover her soft confusion as she suddenly felt
rather than saw his presence behind her. If his instant compliance had
surprised her, his execution of it was a revelation to everyone in the
room. He sang it easily and freely, a little raucously from lack of
practice, it is true, but with the power and richness of voice that made
even Constance Brevoort, hypercritical as she was in things musical, sit
breathless to its conclusion.

The silence which followed was first broken by Red. "Gee, Ken," he said
quaintly, "who'd ever thought yuh could beller so melojious as that!
Why, yuh're a reg'lah preemoh-johnny!" In the hilarity which this evoked
Grace said, reproachfully:

"And to think I never knew!"

He was almost boyishly elated at the implied compliment, and, at the
insistence of his audience sang several other operatic selections very
creditably. Then he turned in modest explanation to Carter's demand.

"We all sang a little at college, you know, and my mother was an
accomplished musician. It is four years since I last sang. You are
overkind to me."

"Do you not play as well?" impulsively asked Mrs. Brevoort. He shook his
head negatively.

"Only a few accompaniment chords that I smash out indifferently! and I
am dubious of my ability to do that after all these years of roping and
ditch digging."

Anselm Brevoort, watching him speculatively through a fragrant cloud of
cigar