'People talk a great deal of nonsense,' she said a little positively: '_I_ have several men-friends.' Somehow Earle felt nettled at this assertion, and would gladly have done battle with all these disagreeable men-friends at once. He only said, however: 'I hope one day to be happy enough to make one of them; but meanwhile, how am I to see you again?' 'Are you not coming to paint Mrs De Lacy?' said Silvia, with her eyes on her plate, but the faint trace of a smile on her lip. 'I am staying here, you know!' 'To be sure!' he cried eagerly; 'I forgot that. I'll come to-morrow and begin. But after you leave here?' 'We live at Eaglemore Gardens,' she said simply. 'I will be glad to see you, if you like to call.' This calm invitation slightly astonished Earle; he forgot that in America young ladies receive visitors in their father's house. 'Thank you,' he got out in some confusion. Silvia seemed to read his thought. '_My mother_ too, I daresay, will be glad to see you; but I suppose you have very little time for calls,' she said haughtily. He recovered himself. 'You are very, very good,' he replied. 'It would be the greatest pleasure to me.' For a few minutes there was a trace of stiffness in her manner, but it soon passed away; and the rest of the time they spent at the table was taken up with animated talk on all sorts of subjects. In the drawing-room up-stairs there was music; and very soon Mrs De Lacy pounced upon Silvia, who was comfortably ensconced in a corner with Wilfred. 'Dear child,' she cried, 'it is your turn now. Don't waste more time on converting that prejudiced mortal.' Silvia looked a little bit annoyed, and getting up quickly, moved to the piano, while Mrs De Lacy murmured: 'Sweet girl! Always so obliging!' Wilfred stood behind her. 'What shall I sing?' she said, half to herself, looking round. 'You have _Love and Death_ there, I see,' Earle said, stooping down. 'Please, _not_ that.' 'Why not? It is a great favourite of mine.' 'So it is of mine. That is the reason I didn't want you to sing it to all these people. Some day I shall ask you for it.' Without replying, she put the _Sands o' Dee_ before her and sang. Earle waited almost breathlessly for the first note. He was passionately fond of music, and he felt somehow as if an untrue or unsweet note from Silvia Stirling would have jarred him more than he could bear. But the voice and the manner of singing satisfied his fastidious ear absolutely. The sympathy which made her face so interesting thrilled in the pathetic tone of her voice, and Earle had never been affected by music before as he was now by her rendering of this simple song. As she rose from the piano, she raised her eyes a moment to his: that strange meeting glance that strikes down into the soul, and in which thought seems to answer thought, passed between them like a revelation. It was only an instant, but it was a momentous one to each.