"Bannister hardly depends on that for a welcome, my dear," said the Squire from the hearthrug. "Now I declare, meeting him just as a friend like this, I'm always forgetting that he's a famous man." "Please go on, Mrs. Delane. It's a capital exchange. But when are you going to give me the pleasure of seeing you at Littlehill?" Mrs. Delane paused for just a second. "I should like to visit your hermit's cell. But I'm so busy just now, and I dare say you are. When your guests forsake you, perhaps we will come and relieve your solitude. Janet, will you give us some music?" Dale followed Janet to the piano, with a little frown on his brow. Why wouldn't she come now? Was it---- Janet's voice dispersed the frown and the reflection. She sang a couple of songs, choosing them out of a book. As she turned over the leaves, Dale saw that some of the airs were set to words of his own writing. When Janet came to one of these, she turned the leaf hastily. The Squire had gone out, and Mrs. Delane, with the privilege of near relationship, was absorbed in a novel. "Will you do me a great favor?" he said. "What, Mr. Bannister?" "I should like to hear you sing words of mine. See, here are two or three." She glanced through them; then she shut the book and made as though to rise. "You won't do it?" Janet blushed and looked troubled. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Bannister; but I can't sing those words. I--I don't like them." "I am sorry they are so bad," he answered in an offended tone. "Oh, of course, so far as power and--and beauty goes, everything in the book is trash compared to them. But I can't sing them." "I won't press you." "I know you are angry. Please don't be angry, Mr. Bannister. I can't do what I think wrong, can I?" "Oh, I have no right to be angry." "There, you wouldn't say that unless you were angry. People never do." "You have such a wretchedly bad opinion of me, Miss Delane." "Do you mind that?" "You know I do." "Then one would think you would try to change it." "Ah, how can I?" "Write something I should delight in singing." "If I do, may I dedicate it to you?" "I'm afraid that wouldn't be allowed." "But if it were allowed, would you allow it?" "You know how proud any girl would be of it--of course you know." "You don't do justice to my humility." "Do justice to yourself first, Mr. Bannister." "What sort of songs do you like?" "Oh, anything honest, and manly, and patriotic, and--and nice in feeling." "A catholic taste--and yet none of mine satisfy it." "I will not be quarreled with," declared Janet. "My only wish is to propitiate you." "Then you know now how to do it." It must be allowed that conversations of this nature have a pleasantness of their own, and Dale left the Grange with a delightful feeling of having been treated as he ought to be treated. He found Philip Hume writing and smoking in the study. "Well, been stroked the right way, old man?" asked Philip, throwing down his pen.