Myra drew a short breath. She herself had not intended to sing, but she had hoped that Oliver or David would give her a chance to refuse. She did not feel angry or envious of this girl, she was incapable of pettiness; but she felt old and dull and lonely. Her trained smile was her only shield. She held it while Frances Maury sang. She did not look at Oliver, but his delight reached her as if she had caused it. She felt him hovering close to the piano. She knew how he was standing, how his eyes were shining. She knew, because as the warm, rich voice rose up, as Cannon's strange rhythms filled the room with a wild pagan grace, she withdrew into her memory and found there all that went on. She herself was singing; she stood free and beautiful before them all; she met Oliver's eyes. Frances sang again and again. Oliver led the applause, and Myra sat on, smiling, her steady gaze turned inward. When it was over, she took Frances by the hand, and it was as if she were thanking herself and bidding that self adieu. Later in the evening David Cannon came up to her and gruffly suggested that she sing. She shook her head. "No, my good friend." "Why not?" He stood over her, ugly, masterful. Her smile softened to a sweet, sad flutter of lip. "You know why." "Nonsense!" "You can't bully me any more, David," she told him gently. "That's the tragic part of it," she added under her breath. She liked David, but she wished he would go. She wished they would all go. It must be very late. It was still later, however, before the last guest departed. That last guest was Frances Maury, escorted by a glum David. Oliver had kept her on. "Myra and I always get to bed so early that it's a relief to stay up for once," he had said. "Of course it's much more sensible to go to bed early." Miss Maury's voice did not sound as if sensible things appealed to her. "Oliver has to be at his office so early in the morning," Myra put in almost as an apology. "She sees to that," came from Oliver, with a humorous inflection. Frances Maury playfully shuddered. "Wives have too many duties for me. I shall never marry." "Don't," said Oliver, and realized his blunder. He glanced quickly at Myra, and was relieved to observe that she did not seem troubled. It was David, at last, who insisted on going home. Frances obeyed him with a laughing apology. "You've given me such a good time. I forgot the hour. May I come again?" "Indeed you must," Myra answered hospitably. She would not leave, however, until they had promised to come to her concert. She would send them tickets. And they must have tea with her soon. Would they chaperon her once in a while? Oliver eagerly promised to be at her beck and call. He followed her out into the hall, unmindful of David's vile temper.