"good
enough"; and they were to be brought out as soon as possible.

"Of course you understand," explained Cyril, "that there's no 'hit'
expected. Thank heaven they aren't that sort! And there's no great money
in it, either. You'd have to write a masterpiece like 'She's my Ju-Ju
Baby' or some such gem to get the 'hit' and the money. But the songs are
fine, and they'll take with cultured hearers. We'll get them introduced
by good singers, of course, and they'll be favorites soon for the
concert stage, and for parlors."

Billy saw a good deal of Cyril now. Already she was at work rewriting
and polishing some of her half-completed melodies, and Cyril was helping
her, by his interest as well as by his criticism. He was, in fact,
at the house very frequently--too frequently, indeed, to suit either
Bertram or Calderwell. Even William frowned sometimes when his cozy
chats with Billy were interrupted by Cyril's appearing with a roll of
new music for her to "try"; though William told himself that he ought
to be thankful if there was anything that could make Cyril more
companionable, less reserved and morose. And Cyril WAS different--there
was no disputing that. Calderwell said that he had come "out of his
shell"; and Bertram told Billy that she must have "found his note and
struck it good and hard."

Billy was very happy. To the little music teacher, Marie Hawthorn, she
talked more freely, perhaps, than she did to any one else.

"It's so wonderful, Marie--so wonderfully wonderful," she said one
day, "to sit here in my own room and sing a little song that comes from
somewhere, anywhere, out of the sky itself. Then by and by, that little
song will fly away, away, over land and sea; and some day it will touch
somebody's heart just as it has touched mine. Oh, Marie, is it not
wonderful?"

"It is, dear--and it is not. Your songs could not help reaching
somebody's heart. There's nothing wonderful in that."

"Sweet flatterer!"

"But I mean it. They are beautiful; and so is--Mr. Henshaw's music."

"Yes, it is," murmured Billy, abstractedly.

There was a long pause, then Marie asked with shy hesitation:

"Do you think, Miss Billy--that he would care? I listened yesterday when
he was playing to you. I was up here in your room, but when I heard the
music I--I went out, on the stairs and sat down. Was it very--bad of
me?"

Billy laughed happily.

"If it was, he can't say anything," she reassured her. "He's done the
same thi