“Will you do me the kindness to tell me if I am blushing?” said Louis. “I veritably believe so, and as it is a thing I have never been known to do before, I should like to have the occurrence certified to. I venture to hope, however, that the fact is accounted for by my being physically thick skinned, and not morally so, for I have known myself to be blushing when the fact would not have been suspected by outsiders. Just now, however, I fancy it must have been evident to the most casual observer.” He saw that the levity of his words and tones were, for some reason, discordant to Miss Trevennon, and so he spoke in a graver voice, as he said: “I feel musical to-night, and almost as if I could overcome the hesitation I have spoken of sufficiently to sing you some of the music of _Favorita_ in anticipation of Monday night.” “Oh, why don’t you? It would be so delightful!” exclaimed Margaret, fired at the suggestion. “I never feel that I can sing well when I have to play my own accompaniments,” he said. “But for that----” “Oh, if you have the music, do let me play for you!” “Could you do it? I thought you did not play. Have you also been practising concealment?” “My music amounts to nothing, but I could easily manage an accompaniment. Have you the notes?” “Yes, just at hand. What a delightful idea! I never thought of this. You shouldn’t have cheated me out of such a pleasure all this time. Let me open the piano. Come!” He tossed his pencil down upon the table, and moved across the room as he spoke. Seeing his action, Margaret checked herself as she was following, and said suddenly: “I forgot your work. I really cannot interfere with that.” “Never mind the work. The work may go. I’ll make it up somehow. Could you manage this, do you think?” By way of answer, Margaret seated herself and ran over the prelude with tolerable ease, and at the proper time nodded to him to begin. There was no interruption until the really impressive voice had died away in the last note, and then Margaret dropped her hands on her lap and said, with a long-drawn breath: “I can see no lack. It is most beautiful. I think you must have greatly under-estimated your voice. It has a quality that touches me deeply.” “What there is of it does pretty well,” Louis answered, smiling, well pleased at her earnest commendation. “Ames says I’m the best singer to have no voice that he ever heard, which is the greatest amount of praise I can lay claim to.” “I feel more than ever, now, the lack of cultivation in Mr. Somers’ voice,” said Margaret. “It is really a grand organ, but he scarcely knows how to sing anything with entire correctness, unless it is something in which he has been carefully drilled by some one who knows a little more than himself. I wish he could hear you sing.”