She looked at him less frankly. Her flush and the new uncertainty of her voice enraptured Alexis. "Anne, Anne," he cried impetuously, calling her by her name for the first time. "Why, being with you is the only happiness I have ever had! It was the terrible fear of losing it that has upset me so tonight." His face was radiant. In another moment, Anne feared he might become demonstrative. With a slight flutter of regret and excitement, she rose and ran to the piano. "I insist upon playing!" She ran her fingers over the keys lightly, avoiding his tortured expression. "I've restrained myself for ten days on your account, and now that it is decided you are remaining, I refuse to go without my piano any longer! Besides, I simply must drown out this wind if I can. It is getting on my nerves!" Too astonished to remonstrate, slightly sick at his stomach, Alexis fell into the nearest chair and steeled himself to listen. From the corner of her eye, Anne admired his unexpected control. Nothing in his polite attitude betrayed the nervous torture she knew he was undergoing. But she chose to ignore it. She broke into one of Chopin's preludes and continued to watch him furtively. His pallor turned a sickly gray. Small beads of moisture stood out upon his forehead. The clenched hands, the twisted lips, made Anne feel like an executioner. But still she continued playing. And as she had hoped, the ruse proved successful. After a few minutes, the nervous hands relaxed. A smile loosened the tension of his lips. For a while he listened in seeming content. Then evidently he could contain himself no longer. Still pale, but no longer in agony, he was obviously in the throes of a new and more vital emotion. With an awakened, exultant expression, he sprang out of the chair and striding over behind her, swept her off the piano stool and into the armchair. "Very good indeed!" he cried with unconscious condescension. "But let me show you how it ought to be done." He gave the stool a professional twist or two, and sat down and commenced to play. Slightly crestfallen, Anne composed herself to listen. He took up the prelude where she had left off. She had not known that he had it in him. Acknowledged master of the violin, he was a pianist of undoubted technique and power as well. A month ago, such a performance from a mere boy would have racked and humiliated, but now it was sheer, unadulterated, pleasure. "Why didn't you tell me you could play the piano like that?" she exclaimed almost peevishly. He wheeled about on the piano-stool and smiled at her rather sheepishly. "I can't," he said simply. "It is merely a side issue, a relaxation." Anne came and stood beside him. "I could slap you!" she retorted with mock anger. "The idea of calling a talent like that a side issue! Why you could make a career for yourself as a pianist if you wished." He laughed almost light-heartedly.