e is
not much----"

"It is like a voice out of heaven," Mr. Derwentwater said fervently.

"Do you really, really think so?" she said with a wondering look. She
was surprised, but pleased too. "I don't think you would care for it
without the Contessa's; but, perhaps----" Then she looked round her with
a reflective look. "What can I do? There is no piano, and then these
people would hear." After this a sudden idea struck her. She laughed
aloud like a child with sudden glee. "I don't suppose it would be any
harm! You belong to the house--and then there is Marietta. Yes! Come!"
she cried suddenly, rushing up the great staircase and waving her hand
impatiently, beckoning them to follow. "Come quick, quick," she cried;
"I hear some one coming," and flew upstairs. They followed her, Mr.
Derwentwater passing Jock, who hung back a little, and did not know
what to think of this adventure. "Come quick," she cried, darting along
the dimly-lighted corridor with a laugh that rang lightly along like the
music to which her steps were set. "Oh, come in, come in. They will
hear, but they will not know where it comes from." The young men
stupefied, hesitating, followed her. They found themselves among all the
curiosities and luxuries of the Contessa's boudoir. And in a moment Bice
had placed herself at the little piano which was placed across one of
the corners, its back covered with a wonderful piece of Eastern
embroidery which would have invited Derwentwater's attention had he been
able to fix that upon anything but Bice. As it was, he gave a half
regard to these treasures. He would have examined them all with the
devotion of a connoisseur but for her presence, which exercised a spell
still more subtle than that of art.

The sound of the singing penetrated vaguely even into the drawing-room,
where the Contessa, startled, rose from her seat much earlier than
usual. Lucy, who attended her dutifully upstairs according to her usual
custom, was dismayed beyond measure by seeing Jock and his tutor issue
from that door. Bice came with them, with an air of excitement and
triumphant satisfaction. She had been singing, and the inspiration and
applause had gone to her head. She met the ladies not with the air of a
culprit, but in all the boldness of innocence. "They like to hear me,
even by myself," she cried; "they have listened, as if I had been an
angel." And she clapped her hands with almost childish pleasure.

"Perhaps they think you are,