nspiration of the room--that is all,", he said. "It is a beautiful
song. All of your songs are beautiful."

Billy blushed rosily.

"Thank you. You know--more of them, then?"

"I think I know them all--unless you have some new ones out. Have you
some new ones, lately?"

Billy shook her head.

"No; I haven't written anything since last spring."

"But you're going to?"

She drew a long sigh.

"Yes, oh, yes. I know that _now_--" With a swift biting of her lower
lip Billy caught herself up in time. As if she could tell this man, this
stranger, what she had told Bertram that night by the fire--that she
knew that now, _now_ she would write beautiful songs, with his love, and
his pride in her, as incentives. "Oh, yes, I think I shall write more
one of these days," she finished lightly. "But come, this isn't singing
duets! I want to see the music you brought."

They sang then, one after another of the duets. To Billy, the music was
new and interesting. To Billy, too, it was new (and interesting) to hear
her own voice blending with another's so perfectly--to feel herself a
part of such exquisite harmony.

"Oh, oh!" she breathed ecstatically, after the last note of a
particularly beautiful phrase. "I never knew before how lovely it was to
sing duets."

"Nor I," replied Arkwright in a voice that was not quite steady.

Arkwright's eyes were on the enraptured face of the girl so near him.
It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not happen to turn and catch their
expression. Still, it might have been better if she had turned, after
all. But Billy's eyes were on the music before her. Her fingers were
busy with the fluttering pages, searching for another duet.

"Didn't you?" she murmured abstractedly. "I supposed _you'd_ sung them
before; but you see I never did--until the other night. There, let's try
this one!"

"This one" was followed by another and another. Then Billy drew a long
breath.

"There! that must positively be the last," she declared reluctantly.
"I'm so hoarse now I can scarcely croak. You see, I don't pretend to
sing, really."

"Don't you? You sing far better than some who do, anyhow," retorted the
man, warmly.

"Thank you," smiled Billy; "that was nice of you to say so--for my
sake--and the others aren't here to care. But tell me of yourself. I
haven't had a chance to ask you yet; and--I think you said Mary Jane was
going to study for Grand Opera."

Arkwright laughed and shrugged his shoulders.