"Bill didn't write that," he said, suddenly serious, "who did? You, Mavis?" I nodded. "Why, you little wretch," he cried out, delightedly. "Bill never told me a word--" "He doesn't know," I said. "No-one knows. Please don't tell him. I had thought of some day showing what I had done to Uncle John Denton. But I've decided not to, now. I didn't mean anyone to know--" Wright picked up the paper and read the verse again. I watched him, in a curious mental state. Part of me resented bitterly that even so good a friend should have dragged out to the revealing light of day, my wistful secret of song: and yet, another part of me, back in my brain, said dully, "It really doesn't matter--now." "I'm a better critic than I am a poet," said Wright, after a time. "I think you have a gift, Mavis. This," he flicked the paper with a thumb and finger, "has grace and delicacy. It's not good, of course,--not according to--well, say, Bill's standards,--but it has promise. I won't tell Bill, if you'd rather not, although I think he would help you a great deal--and I'm sure he'd go quite out of his head with excitement. May I see, sometime, anything else you have? Only, for the love of Mike, what's the idea of being so morbid? Haven't you happier things to write about, child?" I put my hand over his, "Sure you won't tell?" I begged. "I swear, by all the Muses," he replied, "Bill shall never know, from me." "Know what?" asked Bill, appearing disconcertingly around the tree. I snatched my hand from Wright's and felt myself grow scarlet. We must both have looked guilty, for Wright's guileless blonde face reflected my embarrassment. "Secret!" said Wright, firmly. "Oh, I see." Bill glanced from one to the other of us, to the paper in Wright's hand, and then considerately walked off. "Lunch is ready," he remarked, over his shoulder. "Been calling you for about ten minutes." Wright helped me to my feet. "Close call," he said. "Hush!" I said, for my husband was still within ear-shot. "Is he always like that?" asked Wright, anxiously, as we went toward the house. "Like what?" I asked, in all innocence. "Positively green-eyed with rage if you are alone for half a minute with another man--even so harmless a specimen as myself?" "Don't be silly," said I, with finality. "I'm not, and if he is going to be jealous as all that, why don't you get to him first before he can accuse you, and demand that he cease baying at the moon with that human leopardess who vamps around these diggings?" "She'll be here this afternoon, on a visit," I announced, laughing. "Why don't you monopolize her yourself?" "I never went in for that kind," said Wright with firmness. "I might get scratched. Gentle and soft-spoken, that's my type. Besides, Miss Howells is going to look just like her mother, and that's a warning to any man!"