Odd how women can act one way while they're feeling another way! Missy had supposed, at the festival, that Aunt Isabel was having a particularly enjoyable time. “Stay and let's have some music,” Aunt Isabel went on. “You left your ukelele here last week.” So the handsome Mr. Saunders played the ukelele!--How wonderfully that suited his type. And it was just the kind of moonlight night for music. Missy rejoiced when Mr. Saunders decided to stay, and Aunt Isabel went in the house for the ukelele. It was heavenly when Mr. Saunders began to play and sing. The others had seated themselves in porch chairs, but he chose a place on the top step, his head thrown back against a pillar, and the moon shining full on his dark, imperious face. His bold eyes now gazed dreamily into distance as, in a golden tenor that seemed to melt into the moonlight itself, he sang: “They plucked the stars out of the blue, dear, Gave them to you, dear, For eyes... ” The ukelele under his fingers thrummed out a soft, vibrant, melancholy accompaniment. It was divine! Here surely was a “harper passing all other!” Mr. Saunders looked something like a knight, too--all but his costume. He was so tall and dark and handsome; and his dark eyes were bold, though now so soft from his own music. The music stopped. Aunt Isabel jumped up from her porch chair, left the shadows, and seated herself beside him on the moonlit top. “That looks easy,” she said. “Show me how to do it.” She took the ukelele from him. He showed her how to place her fingers--their fingers got tangled up--they laughed. Missy started to laugh, too, but stopped right in the middle of it. A sudden thought had struck her, remembrance of another beauteous lady who had been “learned” to harp. She gazed down on Aunt Isabel--how beautiful there in the white moonlight! So fair and slight, the scarf-thing around her shoulders like a shroud of mist, hair like unto gold, eyes like the stars of heaven. Her eyes were now lifted laughingly to Mr. Saunders'. She was so close he must catch that faintly sweetness of her hair. He returned the look and started to sing again; while La Beale--no, Aunt Isabel-- Even the names were alike! Missy drew in a quick, sharp breath. Mr. Saunders, now smiling straight at Aunt Isabel as she tried to pick the chords, went on: “They plucked the stars out of the blue, dear, Gave them to you, dear, For eyes...” How expressively he sang those words! Missy became troubled. Of course Romance was beautiful but those things belonged in ancient times. You wouldn't want things like that right in your own family, especially when Uncle Charlie already had a broken big toe... She forgot that the music was beautiful, the night bewitching; she even forgot to listen to what Raleigh was saying, till he leaned forward and demanded irately: “Say! you haven't gone to sleep, have you?” Missy gave a start, blinked, and looked self-conscious. “Oh, excuse me,” she murmured. “I guess I was sort of dreaming.”