e words and
music of that song.

With his voice lingering upon the last word, he turned and looked up at
Alice. Upon her face there was a startled, almost frightened look.

"Shall I read the words to you, Miss Pettengill?" There was almost a
command in the way he said it. His love had o'ermastered his politeness.

Alice said nothing, but bowed her head.

Then Quincy recited the words of the song. He had no need to read them,
for he knew them by heart. It seemed to him that he had written the
words himself. He did not even remember the author's name, and Alice
stood with bowed head and closed eyes and drank in these words as they
fell from his lips:

In this heart of mine the bird of love
Has built a nest,
Has built a nest.
And so she has in mine!
Response:
And so she has in mine!

And she toils both day and night, no thought
Of food or rest
Of food or rest,
And sings this song divine.
Response:
And sings this song divine.
Duet:
All the day long,
Such a sweet song,
Teaching love true,
I love! Do you?

When Quincy came to the last line, instead of reading it he turned to
the piano and sang it with even more passion in his voice than at first.

"Will you try it over with me?" he said. And without waiting for her
reply he dashed off the prelude.

Their voices rang out together until they reached the line, "And so she
has in mine." As Alice sang these words she opened her eyes and looked
upward. A smile of supreme joy spread over and irradiated her face. Her
voice faltered; she stopped, then she caught at the piano with her right
hand. She tottered and would have fallen if Quincy had not sprung up and
taken her in his arms.

"Is it true, Alice?" cried he; "is it so? Can you truly say, 'And so she
has in mine?'"

And Alice looked up at him with that glorious smile still upon her face
and softly whispered, "'And so she has in mine,' Quincy."

Quincy led her to the lounge by the window, through which the cool
evening breeze was blowing, and they sat down side by side. It has been
truly said that the conversations of lovers are more appreciated by
themselves than by anybody else, and it is equally true that at the most
tender moment, in such conversations, intensely disagreeable
interruptions are likely to occur.

Sometimes it is the well-meaning but unthinking father; again it is t