aking no further notice of her tears. It was better than offering
sympathy that would be scorned. It was exactly the right thing at the
moment, and Dora saw the wisdom of it and respected him. It lessened her
fear; but she cried quietly for a little while; then, drying her tears,
she fingered the music on the top of the grand piano, idly.

"I'm afraid you think me a very hysterical and stupid person, Mr.
Ormsby?" she said at last, growing weary of the strained silence and his
indifferent nonchalance. "I don't usually cry like this, and make scenes,
and behave like a schoolgirl."

"I'm making headway," was Ormsby's thought, "or she wouldn't take the
trouble to excuse herself."

"I think you are the most sensible girl I ever met, Dora."

"You have no right to call me Dora."

"In future, I shall do just as I choose. You know your father's
wishes--you know mine. I am patient, I can wait. After to-night, you are
mine always, and forever. Some day, you will be my wife, and, instead of
sitting apart from me over there, you will be here by my side, holding my
hand."

"Never!" she cried, starting up, and emphasizing her determination by a
blow with her hand upon the music lying on the piano top.

"Ah! you feel like that now. Dora, show your sweet reasonableness by
playing to me for a little while. I promise, I shall not annoy you
further."

"I don't feel like playing. You have upset me."

"Then, sit by the fire."

He drew forward a chair of which he knew she was fond, and brought it
close to the hearth.

"Come! You used to smoke in the old days. Have a cigarette. It will help
you to forget unpleasant things. It will calm you--if you don't feel
inclined to play."

"I would rather play," she faltered.

"Whichever you please."

She settled herself at the piano, and fingered the music, irresolutely.
She had not touched the keys since Dick's death, and, if she had been
less perturbed to-night, she would not for a moment have contemplated
breaking that silence for the sake of Vivian Ormsby, but an extraordinary
helplessness had taken possession of her. There was something magnetic
about this man whom she feared, and tried to hate, something that
compelled her to act against her will and better judgment.

She chose the first piece of music at hand--a waltz, a particularly
romantic and melancholy refrain, that was soothing to the man in the
chair. He sat with his head thrown back, blowing rings of smoke into the
air