“I see that my sister has fitted up a little music-room for you. Have you done much practicing there yet?” “Some.” “You are not homesick in your new quarters?” “No.” “Let me hold that portfolio for you.” He interposed a dexterous hand. “Oh, don’t thank me—you see, if you drop it, courtesy will oblige me to pick up all the music. This is the first time we’ve met since you have been in the house; I’ve been so patient that I deserve more than to have little cold, hard monosyllables thrown at me.” “Patient!” “Haven’t I seen you slip out of the way when you thought I was coming? I’m accustomed to the phenomenon.” The lightness of his tone did not hide the bitter strain under it. “Really, I’m not lacking in perception. I wished to give you time to get inured to the sad fact that I live here; and you need not have changed the time for your lessons last week, for I have no regular time for my daily exodus at present. If you _will_ keep your head so persistently turned away, you might as well utilize the position. Play me something.” “No, you play for me,” returned Dosia, glad of the chance to divert his attention from her. “I might play ‘Greeting,’ since I’m not going to get any.” He seated himself on the piano-bench she vacated, and played a few strains absently; there was that in the low, sweet chords among which his fingers strayed that could not but enchain. She forgot her aloofness to listen. Presently he said: “Who is my rival?” “What do you mean?” She started up, and stood with both arms resting on the lower end of the grand piano, staring at him. “I could not think that blush was for me—that beautiful color that stole over you when I came in. It couldn’t be for me, when you have avoided me so pointedly. So I concluded, of course, that it was either the reflection from that brick wall out there, or was called forth by the thought of my rival.” “I will not say that it was the brick wall,” said Dosia, yielding to the light, heady spirit he always roused in her, with, also, the little under-knowledge of her secret dream. “Then I will not say it was the rival,” said Lawson. He added in a lower tone: “And I wouldn’t give it up to any rival; I saw it—it was mine.” “You claim a great deal,” returned Dosia, wishing that she had the strength of mind to go and leave him, yet loath to lose a moment of this converse. He shook his head as he answered gently: “No, you are mistaken there; I claim nothing. I have no rights—only privileges. I hope it’s going to be my privilege to have a little of your charming society in the next few days. I shall be at home, perforce; I’ve lost my position.” “Oh, I’m sorry!” said Dosia, with her quick sympathy. He raised one hand deprecatingly, while the other still weaved in and out in a pianissimo accompaniment. “Sorry? For me? Oh, that’s not the thing to say, at all. You should condemn my inability to keep the place.” “Why do you talk like this?” asked Dosia, with a pained feeling.