"Not to-night, please. I don't feel like singing; and when I don't it is an infliction on my poor audience." "I wish you would, Edna. I've not heard you," said Dunham. "Just the reason why I refuse," she returned. "I'm far too vain." "She is the spirit of music," said Sylvia, regarding her hostess affectionately. "But the spirit isn't always willing?" asked Dunham. "No, not always," returned Edna, rising. "This is Liberty Hall, people, so don't move till you get ready; but if you'll excuse me I'm going to bed." Sylvia rose at once. She would like to linger on this dim piazza for hours, and to fancy that Dunham stayed too from choice and not from courtesy; but she well knew that the charm of the occasion would vanish with Edna, and even if it were not so, the Prince's companionship was not for her without the Princess. Dunham turned to her. "It isn't sleepy time for you, too, is it?" "Yes, I believe it is. I'm sorry to be so--so unsporty." "It's all a bluff, too. Just as if we didn't know that as soon as the rest of us innocents are quiet and dreaming of blueberries, your window will fly open and off you'll go on a broomstick." Sylvia smiled. "I don't believe any one of this party will dream as hard of blueberries as I shall," she declared. "Come now, you know you're trading on a man's supposed superiority to curiosity,--only supposed, mind you." "I never even supposed it," put in Sylvia with light scorn. "Tell me what you were brewing on that stove to-night." Edna's features were rigid in her impatience with John's pursuance of an uncomfortable subject. They were all in the living-room now, and she and Sylvia were standing with lighted candles in their hands. Sylvia pursed her lips demurely. "I will--perhaps--if it works, Mr. Dunham." "Works? Ferments, do you mean? Now you're talking sense. No unfermented grape juice in mine." Sylvia laughed and looked around at Edna, who was grave and seemed waiting politely. "Poor Edna. She's tired," she thought, and nodding a good-night to John, she moved toward the stairs. "I'll see you when you come up, Edna," she added, and disappeared. Dunham watched the light figure in its swift ascent, and then turned toward his hostess. "She won't tell us," he announced, smiling. "How could you keep on talking about it, John?" said Edna, speaking low. His face fell at her tone. "Why not?" he asked blankly. "Have you changed your mind about its being a joke?" "Oh--I"--Edna scarcely understood her own attitude toward the little incident, and hesitated most uncharacteristically. "I think it was rather foolish and--and unpleasant, somehow. I--good-night, John," she put out her hand and he took it. "I hope you won't know anything about the sunrise, and that the cradle of the deep won't be too noisy for you. You needn't lock up. Just close the doors and window when you're ready to come in. We don't insult Arcady with bolts. Good-night."