"Oh, Mother dear, I'm so sorry!" cried the boy, dropping on his knees, and trying to draw Mrs. Randolph's hands down from her face. "I never thought; it was very careless. Oh, Mother darling, please don't cry--please forgive me!" At the sound of her son's voice, Mrs. Randolph looked up, and tried to smile through her tears. "Never mind, dear," she said, gently, "it was very foolish of me, but that song--you know how fond she was of it." "Yes, Mother, I know; I was a brute to have forgotten." And Beverly put his strong young arms tenderly round his mother. Mrs. Randolph laid her head on his shoulder for a moment, as if she found comfort in the touch, and then she roused herself with an effort, dried her eyes, and turned to Marjorie. "You must excuse me for being so foolish, dear," she said, "but that was my little Barbara's favorite song; she was always asking Beverly to sing it. I don't think I have heard it since--since she went away." There were tears of sympathy in Marjorie's eyes, and although she said nothing, the look she gave her friend touched Mrs. Randolph, and perhaps comforted her more than any words would have done. [Illustration: "OH, MOTHER DEAR, I'M SO SORRY!"--_Page 243._] Beverly did not sing again, but quietly closed the piano, and for the rest of the afternoon his merry boyish face was unusually grave. "You have given me a great deal of pleasure," Mrs. Randolph said, when Marjorie at last rose to go. "I hope you will come again to-morrow. It is very tiresome to have to stay in the house all day, especially when one hasn't the solace of reading." Marjorie said she would surely come again, and then she hurried back to their own apartment, where she found her aunt and cousin, who had come in some time before. Mrs. Carleton had read Marjorie's note, and had no objection to the girl's spending as much time with the invalid as she liked. "Was Beverly at home?" Elsie inquired, anxiously, following her cousin to her room. "He was there some of the time," said Marjorie; "he had lessons to do at first, but he came in for tea. Mrs. Randolph asked him to sing--he has a beautiful voice." "You certainly have a way of getting what you want," remarked Elsie in a rather dissatisfied tone; "I wonder how you manage." "Manage what?" demanded Marjorie in amazement; "what in the world do you mean, Elsie?" Elsie shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I guess you know," she said, sarcastically, and walked out of the room, leaving Marjorie very much puzzled, and more than a little uncomfortable. Mrs. Randolph did not recover from her cold as quickly as she had hoped, and she was confined to the house for nearly a week. Her eyes, too, continued troublesome, and reading and sewing were strictly forbidden. So it came to be quite a natural thing that Marjorie should spend an hour every afternoon in the Randolphs' apartment, and the girl grew to look forward to those hours as the pleasantest of the whole day.