"_Have not all songs been sung, all loves been told?_ What shall I say when nought is left unsaid? The world is full of memories of the dead, Echoes, and relics. Here's no virgin gold, But all assayed, none left for me to mould Into new coin, and at your feet to shed, Each piece is mint-marked with some poet's head, Tested and rung in tributes manifold._ "_O for a single word should be mine own-- And not the homage of long-studied art, Common to all, for you who stand apart! O weariness of measures tried and known! Yet in their rhythm, you_--_if you alone-- Should hear the passionate pulses of my heart!_" As he finished he lifted his eyes and looked at Amy. Where else should a young man look, to emphasise the meaning of his love-poem, except into a woman's sympathising eyes? But the look, mere matter of course as it was, startled and silenced her. "You--if you alone!" The words, spoken with the soft fulness of Adrian's pleasant voice, rang in her ears. A young woman whose attractions were recognised by all the family might very well be pardoned for not at once perceiving that the emphasis was purely artistic. But the silence which would have been full of meaning for the lover, frightened the poet. "You don't like it!" he exclaimed, anxiously. "Oh yes, I do--I like it very much." "But there is something wrong," Adrian persisted. "I am sure you don't like it." "Indeed--indeed I do," the girl declared fervently, and Molly chimed in with an enthusiastic-- "Oh, Mr. Scarlett, it's charming!" "It's very kind of you to say so," he replied, pocketing his sonnet and going towards the piano, still with a slightly troubled expression. "Shall we try that duet now?" Molly's thoughts were very easily diverted from poetry. She set up the music; but just as she was about to strike the first note, an idea occurred to her, and spinning half round on the stool-- "Amy," she said, "do _you_ call that Mr. Harding so very good-looking?" Amy was taken by surprise. "I? oh no!" she answered. "There!" Molly exclaimed, looking up at Scarlett. "Why, what do you mean?" Miss Wilton asked. "Somehow I can't fancy he'll live. Whenever I look at that man's face I think of death." "What a queer idea!" said the younger sister reflectively. "Well, he certainly doesn't look strong, and I should think that Robinson boy would be enough to worry anybody into an early grave." Adrian, standing by the piano, raised his eyes to the old mirror, as if he half expected to see the pale face with its watchful eyes below the gleaming surface of the glass. But it reflected only a vague confusion of curtain and wall-paper, and the feathery foliage of a palm. "I say," said Molly, "had you met him before this morning, or did you introduce yourselves?" "We introduced ourselves. I found he knew a place where I stayed last summer. Don't you remember," he said, looking across at Amy, "the old house I told you about?"