er
case into his hands in a manner too solemnly fearful for her to question.

* * * * *

Three months after the death of Paul Linmere, Margie met Archer Trevlyn
at the house of Alexandrine Lee. He was quite a constant visitor there,
Mrs. Lee told her, with a little conscious pride, for young Trevlyn was
being spoken of in business circles as a rising young man. He was to be
admitted to partnership in the firm of Belgrade and Co., in the spring.
And this once effected, his fortune was made.

There was a little whist party at Mrs. Lee's that evening, and Margie
was persuaded to remain. After a while the company asked for music.
Whist, the books of engravings, and the _bijoux_ of the centre-table
were exhausted, and small talk flagged. Margie was reluctantly prevailed
upon to play.

She was not a wonderful performer, but she had a fine ear, and played
with finish and accuracy. But she sang divinely. To oblige her friends,
she sang a few new things and then pausing, was about to rise from the
instrument, when Mr. Trevlyn came to her side.

"Will you play something for me?" he asked, stooping over her. His dark,
passionate eyes brought the blood to her face--made her restless and
nervous in spite of herself.

"What would you like?" she managed to ask.

"This!" He selected an old German ballad, long ago a favorite in the
highest musical circles, but now cast aside for something newer and more
brilliant. A simple, touching little song of love and sorrow.

She was about to decline singing it, but something told her to beware
of false modesty, and she sang it through.

"I thank you!" he said, earnestly, when she had finished. "It has done me
good. My mother used to sing that song, and I have never wanted to hear
it from any other lips--_until now_."

Alexandrine glided along, as radiant as a humming-bird, her cheeks
flushed, her black eyes sparkling, her voice sweet as a siren's.

"Sentimentalizing, I declare!" she exclaimed, gayly; "and singing that
dreadful song, too! Ugh! it gives me the cold shudders to listen to it!
How can you sing it, Margie, dear?"

"Miss Harrison sang it at my request, Miss Lee," said Trevlyn, gravely,
"it is an old favorite of mine. Shall I not listen to you now?"

Alexandrine took the seat Margie had vacated, and glanced up at the two
faces so near her.

"Why, Margie!" she said, "a moment ago I thought you were a rose, and now
you are a lily! What is the