n any mention of my love of
music makes her very bitter. I, too, wanted to take it up
professionally, but she put her foot down heavily. I scarcely ever
venture to sing or play here."

"Why not elsewhere?" asked Garth Dalmain. "We have stayed about at the
same houses, and I had not the faintest idea you sang."

"I do not know," said Jane slowly. "But--music means so much to me. It
is a sort of holy of holies in the tabernacle of one's inner being. And
it is not easy to lift the veil."

"The veil will be lifted to-night," said Myra Ingleby.

"Yes," agreed Jane, smiling a little ruefully, "I suppose it will."

"And we shall pass in," said Garth Dalmain.

CHAPTER V

CONFIDENCES

The shadows silently lengthened on the lawn.

The home-coming rooks circled and cawed around the tall elm trees.

The sun-dial pointed to six o'clock.

Myra Ingleby rose and stood with the slanting rays of the sun full in
her eyes, her arms stretched over her head. The artist noted every
graceful line of her willowy figure.

"Ah, bah!" she yawned. "It is so perfect out here, and I must go in to
my maid. Jane, be advised in time. Do not ever begin facial massage.
You become a slave to it, and it takes up hours of your day. Look at
me."

They were both looking already. Myra was worth looking at.

"For ordinary dressing purposes, I need not have gone in until seven;
and now I must lose this last, perfect hour."

"What happens?" asked Jane. "I know nothing of the process."

"I can't go into details," replied Lady Ingleby, "but you know how
sweet I have looked all day? Well, if I did not go to my maid now, I
should look less sweet by the end of dinner, and at the close of the
evening I should appear ten years older."

"You would always look sweet," said Jane, with frank sincerity; "and
why mind looking the age you are?"

"My dear, 'a man is as old as he feels; a woman is as old as she
looks,'" quoted Myra.

"I FEEL just seven," said Garth.

"And you LOOK seventeen," laughed Myra.

"And I AM twenty-seven," retorted Garth; "so the duchess should not
call me 'a ridiculous child.' And, dear lady, if curtailing this
mysterious process is going to make you one whit less lovely to-night,
I do beseech you to hasten to your maid, or you will spoil my whole
evening. I shall burst into tears at dinner, and the duchess hates
scenes, as you very well know!"

Lady Ingleby flapped him with her garden hat as she passed.

"Be quiet