“No,” said the girl, laughing,--“or at any rate, I shall soon recover my equanimity. It is very hard to please a man who plays himself, you know.” “Or who says he plays,” observed Mr. Harrison. “He _didn't_ play, you notice.” Helen was pleased to fancy that there might be wisdom in the remark. “Let us change the subject,” she said more cheerfully. “It is best to forget things that make one feel uncomfortable.” “I'll leave the finding of a new topic to you,” replied the other, with graciousness which did a little more to restore Helen's self-esteem. “I have a very humble opinion of my own conversation.” “Do you like mine?” the girl asked with a laugh. “I do, indeed,” said Mr. Harrison with equally pleasing frankness. “I was as interested as could be in the story that you were telling me when we were stopped.” “Well, we'll begin where we left off!” exclaimed Helen, and felt as if she had suddenly discovered a doorway leading from a prison. She found it easy to forget the recent events after that, and Mr. Harrison grew more tolerable to her every moment now that the other was gone; her self-possession came back to her quickly as she read his admiration in his eyes. Besides that, it was impossible to forget for very long that Mr. Harrison was a multi-millionaire, and the object of the envious glances of every other girl in the room; and so when Aunt Polly returned a while later she found the conversation between the two progressing very well, and in fact almost as much enjoyed by both as it had been the first time. After waiting a few minutes she came to ask Helen to sing for the company, a treat which she had reserved until the last. Helen's buoyant nature had by that time flung all her doubts behind her, and this last excitement was all that was needed to sweep her away entirely again. She went to the piano as exulting as ever in her command of it and in the homage which it brought her. She sang an arrangement of the “Preislied,” and she sang it with all the energy and enthusiasm she possessed; partly because she had a really good voice and enjoyed the song, and partly because an audience appreciates singing more easily than any other kind of music. She really scored the success of the evening. Everybody was as enthusiastic as the limits of good taste allowed, and Helen was compelled, not in the least against her will, to sing again and again. While she was laughing with happiness and triumph, something brought, back “Wohin” to her mind, and she sang it again, quite as gaily as she had sung it by the streamlet with Arthur. It was enough to delight even the dullest, and perhaps if Mr. Howard had been there even he would have applauded a little.