tocrat's--what a
privilege!

We didn't speak to each other until late in the evening, when the ladies
rose from their chairs about the fire in the living-room and began to
talk about the hour. I was standing alone by the mantel when I became
conscious that Mr. Jennings had moved away from beside Mrs. Van Breeze,
and was making his way toward me. Everybody was saying good night to
Lucy. We were quite alone for a minute. He didn't shake hands--just
stood before me smiling.

"Well, who are _you_?" he asked.

"Don't you recognize me?" I replied.

He looked me up and down deliberately.

"It is very pretty," he said quietly.

I felt my cheeks grow warm. I blushed. Somebody told me my dress was
pretty, and I blushed! I might have been sixteen.

"Your sister said I could stay a little after the others go if I wanted
to," Mr. Jennings went on. "Of course I want to. Shall I?"

"Yes," I said, with my cheeks still on fire. "Yes. Stay." And he went
away in a moment. I heard him laughing with the others.

I strolled over to the pile of music on the back of Lucy's piano
and became engrossed in looking it over. I felt weak and suddenly
incompetent. I felt frightened and unprepared. I was still there with
the pile of music when, fifteen minutes later, Lucy and Will, with
effusive apologies, excused themselves and went upstairs. Mr. Jennings
approached me. We were alone at last, and each keenly conscious of it.

"Any music here you know?" he asked indifferently, and drew a sheet
towards him.

"Not a great deal."

"It looks pretty much worn," he attempted.

"Doesn't it?" I agreed.

"I hardly know you tonight!" he exclaimed, suddenly personal.

"Don't you? I wore a yellow dress and purple pansies on purpose," I
replied as lightly as I could, touching the flowers at my waist.

"Yes, but you didn't wear the same look in your eyes," he remarked.

"No, I didn't," I acknowledged.

A silence enfolded us--sweet, significant.

Mr. Jennings broke it. "I think I had better go," he remarked.

"Had you?" I almost whispered. "Well----" and acquiesced.

"Unless," he added, "you'll sing me something. Do you sing--or play?"

"A little," I confessed.

"Well, _will_ you then?"

"Why, yes, if you want me to." And I went over and sat down before the
familiar keys.

It was at that moment that I knew at last why I had taken lessons for so
many years; why so much money had been put into expensive instruction,
and so many hours de