she
disappeared into the pantry, and there was nothing left for him to do
but to place the tray on the shelf outside, ready for her to take the
contents in through the window.

* * * * *

The Gay Lady put me upon my own bed, tucked me up, drew the curtains,
and left me to my nap. She left a kiss on my cheek also, and as she
dropped it there I thought of the Skeptic again--I don't know why. I
wondered casually what he would give for one like it.

When I awoke my room was so nearly dark that I was startled into
thinking it next morning. The Lad's voice, speaking eagerly through my
door, was what had roused me. He was summoning me to dinner. "It's all
ready," he was calling.

I dressed dazedly, refreshed and wondering. I went down to preside at
the most delicious meal I had eaten in a month. The Gay Lady--in white
muslin, with cheeks like roses--seemed not in the least fatigued. The
Skeptic looked like a young commanding general who had seen his forces
win triumphantly against great odds. The Philosopher was hilarious.
Azalea seemed somewhat quiet and thoughtful.

When the dishes were done and the kitchen in order--matters which were
dispatched like wildfire--we gathered upon the porch as usual.

"There is nothing in the world I should like so much," said the Gay Lady
presently, from the low chair where she sat, with the Skeptic on a
cushion so near to her feet that in the shadow his big figure seemed to
melt into her slight one, "as some music. Is it asking too much, dear,
after all those dishes?"

"I don't feel a bit like singing," answered Azalea.

The Philosopher sat beside her on the settle, and he turned to add his
request to the Gay Lady's.

The Skeptic spoke heartily from his cushion.

"If you knew how much pleasure you've given us all these mornings and
evenings," he said, "never having to be urged, but being so generous
with your great art----"

"Somehow it doesn't look so great to me to-night," said Azalea quietly.

I almost thought there were tears in her voice. She has a beautiful
speaking voice, as singers are apt to have.

Everybody was silent for an instant, in surprise--and anxiety. Azalea
was a very lovely girl--nobody had meant to hurt her.

Had the Skeptic's shot in the kitchen gone home? Nobody would be sorrier
than he to deal a blow where only a feather's touch was meant.

"It looks so great to me," said the Gay Lady very gently, "that I would
give--y