eery friendliness of it all, Alice Greggory's
cold reserve vanished, and that in its place came something very like
her old ease and charm of manner. By the time Aunt Hannah--according to
previous agreement--came into the room, the two girls were laughing and
chatting over the operetta as if they had known each other for years.

Much to Billy's delight, Alice Greggory, as a musician, proved to be
eminently satisfactory. She was quick at sight reading, and accurate.
She played easily, and with good expression. Particularly was she a
good accompanist, possessing to a marked degree that happy faculty of
_accompanying_ a singer: which means that she neither led the way nor
lagged behind, being always exactly in sympathetic step--than which
nothing is more soul-satisfying to the singer.

It was after the music for the operetta had been well-practised and
discussed that Alice Greggory chanced to see one of Billy's own songs
lying near her. With a pleased smile she picked it up.

"Oh, you know this, too!" she cried. "I played it for a lady only the
other day. It's so pretty, I think--all of hers are, that I have seen.
Billy Neilson is a girl, you know, they say, in spite of--" She stopped
abruptly. Her eyes grew wide and questioning. "Miss Neilson--it can't
be--you don't mean--is your name--it _is--you!_" she finished joyously,
as the telltale color dyed Billy's face. The next moment her own cheeks
burned scarlet. "And to think of my letting _you_ stand in line for a
twenty-five-cent admission!" she scorned.

"Nonsense!" laughed Billy. "It didn't hurt me any more than it did
you. Come!"--in looking about for a quick something to take her guest's
attention, Billy's eyes fell on the manuscript copy of her new song,
bearing Arkwright's name. Yielding to a daring impulse, she drew it
hastily forward. "Here's a new one--a brand-new one, not even printed
yet. Don't you think the words are pretty?" she asked.

As she had hoped, Alice Greggory's eyes, after they had glanced half-way
through the first page, sought the name at the left side below the
title.

"'Words by M. J.--'"--there was a visible start, and a pause before the
"'Arkwright'" was uttered in a slightly different tone.

Billy noted both the start and the pause--and gloried in them.

"Yes; the words are by M. J. Arkwright," she said with smooth unconcern,
but with a covert glance at the other's face. "Ever hear of him?"

Alice Greggory gave a short little laugh.