The music room was a little bower of a spot at the left of the parlors. It was not only the music room but the flower room; at least there were vines and plants and blooming flowers in the windows, festooning the curtains, hanging from lovely wire baskets, a profusion everywhere. Thither went Ruth, Marion, and the two young men who went in silence from very astonishment over this new invitation. In silence and embarrassment, believing in their hearts that they could not sing at all. As for Marion, she knew better. She had stood near them in Sunday-school. Ruth swept the piano clear of all sheet music and substituted the Bliss and Sankey Gospel hymns, and Marion passed a book to each, naming a page, and instantly her full, grand voice joined Ruth's music. Very faint were the tenor and bass accompaniments; but as the first verse closed and they entered upon the second, the melody had gotten possession of their hearts, and they let out their voices without knowing it, so that when the piece was ended, Marion turned with a bright face, and said: "I haven't enjoyed a song so much in years. What a splendid tenor you sing, Mr. Johnson." To herself she said: "There! I'm improving; I honestly think that. But twenty-four hours ago, I should have kept it to myself. It isn't hypocrisy, after all: it is sincerity." Another, and another piece was tried, the music room meantime filling; for Flossy had brought in her train others of the boys. And at last, as the last verse of "Hold the Fort" rang out, Marion turned from the piano to discover that utmost silence prevailed in the rooms where chatter had been before, and every available place in and about the music room was filled with hushed listeners, while those who could not get in, sat or stood outside in silence and wrapt attention. Such music as that at a party they had never heard before. "You and I are a success, I think," Marion said brightly, as she linked her hand in Ruth's arm, when they left the piano. "We are doing our duty beautifully." "Are you complimenting yourself because you are afraid no one will perform that office?" Ruth asked, laughing. "No, I'm doing it because I have begun to be sincere. I've made a discovery to-night. Ruth, it is you and I who are hypocritical, in refusing to say what we think about people, when it would sound real nicely, and would doubtless make them feel pleasanter and happier." Meantime, Ruth had her lesson also that she had been learning. What a trial parties had always been to her! How haughtily she had stood aloof enduring with annoyed heart, and oftentimes with curling lip, sillinesses that she could not avoid, listening to conversations and joining in monosyllables when obliged to do so, that drove her to the very verge of patience, not once imagining that there was any help for her, any hope of stemming the current, or in any way changing the accepted course of things.