"And you needn't imagine," added Mr. Wilbur, "that you are singing for the impresario of the Metropolitan, either. So long as I am the chief beneficiary to-night, it is only fair to tell you, Barrison, that musically I am very despicable. 'The Last Rose of Summer,' and 'Annie Laurie,' are where I am. So don't waste any _moderne_ stuff on me." Philip smiled as he moved to the piano, and the company chose their places. Mrs. Wilbur took a seat beside her husband, enveloped in the anticipatory glow of the matinée girl. "I want to be where I can hold your hand if I need to, dear," she said. Her husband glanced at Diana, flushed and grave, as she placed herself on a low stool near the door, then back at the upstanding white figure beside the piano. Philip said a few words to his accompanist as Barney's fingers strayed softly over the keys--then a familiar strain began, and the heralded voice was heard: "Believe me, if all those endearing young charms That I gaze on so fondly to-day--" At the close, the host was smiling and nodding while his wife's eyes challenged him in mute triumph. Philip discoursed with Barney a few moments and apparently the pigeonholes of the accompanist's mind were well-stored and the contents available, for the old favorite was followed by "If I but Knew," "At Parting," "To Mary," and so on, Mr. Wilbur growing more enthusiastic at each number. "You can speak, young man, so as to be understood, and you're the singer for me," he said. "You have been very indulgent. Now if you don't mind, let us have 'Drink to me only.'" Philip, for the first time, turned and looked directly at Diana. Her father noticed it. He was becoming every moment more alert as to the hundred-per-cent man in the white flannels. The song followed. Diana, on her low seat, had her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, and never once looked at the singer. "I have one more for you," said Philip when the applause had died away. "It is a song of Maude Valérie White's, which I think fits into your category, Mr. Wilbur. It has been haunting me of late." He turned for a few words to the accomplished Barney, during which Diana looked up questioningly, apprehensively. She felt she could not bear much more of the beating upon her heart-strings. Philip turned back, and, after only one running chord of prelude, began to sing: "Let us forget we loved each other much, Let us forget we ever have to part. Let us forget that any look or touch First let in either to the other's heart. "Only we'll sit upon the daisied grass, And hear the larks and see the swallows pass. Only we'll live awhile as children play, Without to-morrow, without yesterday." The last note was one of those high ones which Kelly had stated did such fell work upon the feminine heart, and Mrs. Wilbur's lips were tremulous as she met her husband's eyes.