When the Voice started it was not _my_ Voice. It was a thin, throaty tenor. Compared with the Voice of Portman Square, it was as a tinkling rivulet to a rushing full-volumed river. I sank back on the lounge, hiding my emotions behind my fan. When the song was finished, he made his way through the "Bravas" to my side. "Sweetly pretty!" I murmured. "The song or the singing?" he asked with a smile. "The song," I answered frankly. "Is it yours?" "No, but the singing is!" His good-humor was so delightful that I forgave his not having my Voice. "What is its name?" "It is anonymous--like the composer." "Who is he?" "I must not tell." "Can you give me a copy of the song?" He became embarrassed. "I would with pleasure, if it were mine. But the fact is--I--I--had no right to sing it at all, and the composer would be awfully vexed if he knew." "Original composer?" "He is, indeed. He cannot bear to think of his songs being sung in public." "Dear me! What a terrible mystery you are making of it," I laughed. "O r-really there is no abracadabra about it. You misunderstand me. But I deserve it all for breaking faith and exploiting his lovely song so as to drown my beastly singing." "You need not reproach yourself," I said. "I have heard it before." He started perceptibly. "Impossible," he gasped. "Thank you," I said freezingly. "But how?" "A little bird sang it me." "It is you who are making the mystery now." "Tit for tat. But I will discover yours." "Not unless you are a witch!" "A what?" "A witch." "I am," I said enigmatically. "So you see it's of no use hiding anything from me. Come, tell me all, or I will belabor you with my broomstick." "If you know, why should I tell you?" "I want to see if you can tell the truth." "No, I can't." We both laughed. "See what a cruel dilemma you place me in!" he said beseechingly. "Tell me, at least, why he won't publish his songs. Is he too modest, too timid?" "Neither. He loves art for art's sake--that is all." "I don't understand." "He writes to please himself. To create music is his highest pleasure. He can't see what it has got to do with anybody else." "But surely he wants the world to enjoy his work?" "Why? That would be art for the world's sake, art for fame's sake, art for money's sake!" "What an extraordinary view!"