eye did not kindle,
his voice did not warm. He himself felt the fictitious inflection,
for he added hastily, with happier effect: "It's a wonderful chance,
dearest, isn't it?" His voice by then had gained in heartiness, and
his smile, always worshipful when turned on her, contained this time
something of apology. So close were they, though, in thought, spoken
or unspoken, that he had sounded a tiny alarm. Her radiance
perceptibly waned. A moment before she had stood, a glowing, vital
creature, beside him, eyes and lips singing a duet of delight; now
with questioning heart she leaned toward her loved one.

"What is it? Don't you want me to go? I thought you liked David.
Can't you come, too, Oliver?"

"You know I can't, dear," she heard him say with an attempt at
lightness. Then he added: "But it's a great chance for you. You'll
take it, of course. It was only the thought of losing you even for a
little while. What selfish brutes we men are!" He had recovered
himself, had defined his passing reserve in loverlike terms, and was
newly aware of unworthiness. The luxury of tender persuasion, of
arguing her into a sense of sweet security, concerned him next. He
could not say enough, and said too much.

They were mellow against an intimate background of yellow walls lit
by fire and lamps. Myra's grand piano projected sleek and dark from
a corner of warm shadow. The silver tea-set gleamed pale on a
slender-legged table; a fragrance of narcissus spread dreamily.
Oliver sank on the couch, drawing her down where she could become
all feminine. She was that, and most adorably, her bright hair soft
about lax brows, her full lips parted, her strong white hands lying
in his like brooding birds. He talked on, and she played content for
a while; but a moment came when with a sudden maternal gesture she
drew his dark, willing head to her shoulder.

"Let's forget South America for to-night," she said.

He would not, could not, drop the subject. He had been so clumsy in
not realizing what it all meant to her; but her news had come as
such a surprise. She had seen David Cannon, then, that afternoon?

Yes, he was on his way down to her to settle the date of their
concert and to propose this South American scheme. But she need not
decide immediately.

He protested that her triumph there would crown him. If he were not
a poor young architect attached to his blue prints, he would follow
her. As it was, his duller duty lay at home. She ca