"I don't know anything about '_a_ woman.' I would take _you_, Madge, under any circumstances that I can imagine." "Graydon," said Mrs. Muir, suddenly appearing around a turn in the walk, "what is the matter with you? Why can't you and Madge keep with us more? For some reason we are getting separated all the time. This is a lovely spot. Let us sit down here like a family party and have a little music. I just long to get back home, so that Madge may sing for us as much as we wish. Here she would attract the attention of strangers, and that ends the matter; and so I feel as if I had a rare singing bird, but never a song. In this secluded place no others will hear you, Madge." "Very well. What do you wish? I feel like singing." "Make your own choice." "I'll give you an old song, then, about friendship;" and with notes rivalling those of a hermit-thrush that had been chanting vespers in the dense woods near by, she sang a quaint melody, her voice wakening faint echoes from the adjacent rocks. When she came to the last lines she gave Graydon a shy glance, which seemed to signify, "These words are for you." "Kinder than Love is my true friend. He'd die for me if that would end My sorrow. Yes, would live for me-- Suffer and live unselfishly, And that for him would harder be Than at my feet to die for me." As she ceased she again encountered his steadfast gaze with a glance which said, "Have I not done you justice?" He was satisfied, and felt that the presence of his relatives had secured a sweeter answer than might otherwise have been given--an answer that contained all he could hope for then. "Humph!" ejaculated Mr. Muir, very discontentedly. "What an appreciative remark, Henry!" said Madge, laughing. "It was; and it expressed my views," said the banker, dryly. "Come, Mary, let us go home to supper." "Now, I think the song very pretty," said Mary, "only there are no such people nowadays." As Madge followed with Graydon she continued laughing softly to herself. "You are not hiding vexation at Henry?" Graydon asked. "Oh, no, I understand Henry. You think I am always hiding something. You at least should have understood my song." "Yes, Madge," he said, gravely, "and you also made it clear that you understood me. I am content." She laughed, imitating the ejaculation. "Henry's 'humph!' was too rich for anything. It meant volumes. What sentimental fools he thinks us to be!" "Henry could no more understand such a song than sing it," was Graydon's somewhat irritable response. "No matter. Such men are invaluable in the world. My nature is very much in accord with Henry's, and so far as he has had experience, he is very sound." "With your saving clause in mind, I agree with you perfectly about Henry, but not about yourself. Your nature, Madge, like your voice, has a wide compass."