e didn't look the part a bit,"
she finished laughingly.

"Is long hair--necessary--for poets?" Arkwright's smile was quizzical.

"Dear me, no; not now. But it used to be, didn't it? And for painters,
too. But now they look just like--folks."

Arkwright laughed.

"It isn't possible that you are sighing for the velvet coats and flowing
ties of the past, is it, Miss Neilson?"

"I'm afraid it is," dimpled Billy. "I _love_ velvet coats and flowing
ties!"

"May singers wear them? I shall don them at once, anyhow, at a venture,"
declared the man, promptly.

Billy smiled and shook her head.

"I don't think you will. You all like your horrid fuzzy tweeds and
worsteds too well!"

"You speak with feeling. One would almost suspect that you already had
tried to bring about a reform--and failed. Perhaps Mr. Cyril, now, or
Mr. Bertram--" Arkwright stopped with a whimsical smile.

Billy flushed a little. As it happened, she had, indeed, had a merry
tilt with Bertram on that very subject, and he had laughingly promised
that his wedding present to her would be a velvet house coat for
himself. It was on the point of Billy's tongue now to say this to
Arkwright; but another glance at the provoking smile on his lips drove
the words back in angry confusion. For the second time, in the presence
of this man, Billy found herself unable to refer to her engagement to
Bertram Henshaw--though this time she did not in the least doubt that
Arkwright already knew of it.

With a little gesture of playful scorn she rose and went to the piano.

"Come, let us try some duets," she suggested. "That's lots nicer than
quarrelling over velvet coats; and Aunt Hannah will be down presently to
hear us sing."

Before she had ceased speaking, Arkwright was at her side with an
exclamation of eager acquiescence.

It was after the second duet that Arkwright asked, a little diffidently.

"Have you written any new songs lately?"

"No."

"You're going to?"

"Perhaps--if I find one to write."

"You mean--you have no words?"

"Yes--and no. I have some words, both of my own and other people's; but
I haven't found in any one of them, yet--a melody."

Arkwright hesitated. His right hand went almost to his inner coat
pocket--then fell back at his side. The next moment he picked up a sheet
of music.

"Are you too tired to try this?" he asked.

A puzzled frown appeared on Billy's face.

"Why, no, but--"

"Well, children, I've come down to hear t