The accompaniment stole out—a sound as of little bells chiming from far away—and then Joy’s voice, muted and shaky, but all the more poignant for that reason—— “My only love is always near In country or in town It seems that he must feel, must hear The rustle of my gown. “I foot it after him, so young My locks are tied in haste— And one is o’er my shoulder flung And hangs below my waist. “He runs before me in the meads And down the world-worn track He leads me on—but as he leads He never glances back. “Yet still his voice is in my dreams To witch me o’er and o’er That wooing voice! Ah, me—it seems Less near me than before.” A pause—a little wistful interlude of tinkling notes in a minor key. “Lightly I speed while hope is high And youth beguiles the race I follow—follow still—but I Shall never see his face.” Grant had risen and had come over to her, his eyes blazing. “You have never sung that to Packy, have you? Joy——” “No—I haven’t ever sung it to anybody.” “Somehow—I couldn’t have borne it, if you had, Joy——” A cool voice from the doorway smote in upon their throbbing hearts. “Dear me! Have you two not gone to the dance yet?” Mrs. Grey came forward into the room, her chill eyes dwelling first on Grant, then upon Joy, lingering on her face where the mixed colours strove for supremacy. “It was a great pity Mr. Grey and I were delayed in town.” She turned to Joy. “So you’re a—singer! I rather thought you—expressed yourself in some way.” Her eyes still rested with emphasis upon Joy’s colour; it was almost as if she wished Grant to follow her gaze and see what she saw. But Grant was not looking at Joy with his mother’s eyes. “What are you going to do with your voice?” Joy took a deep breath. “I am going to study for opera.” It was the first time she had admitted it, even to herself. Once the statement was out, she contemplated it with delight. “Oh, indeed. A professional—with all that that entails.” The bleak words fell between Joy and Grant; and although neither dreamed it then, with the rose flush of the vanished day still upon them, they stayed between them. Almost without words, it was determined that they start at once for the dance. Grant remarked that he and Joy would walk up the beach. A snowbound glance from the blue eyes, and the two left the house, with the understanding that they would meet Mr. and Mrs. Grey over there. The tide had gone out, leaving long stretches of hard sand. The moon was up, full and round, staring down upon them with friendly curiosity.