"If you married Eileen," began Billy, "you'd call her Eileen, I
suppose."

"Certainly," said Selwyn.

"Why don't you?"

"That is another thing you must ask her, my son."

"Well, then, Eileen--"

But Miss Erroll was already seated at the nursery piano, and his demands
were drowned in a decisive chord which brought the children clustering
around her, while their nurses ran among them untying bibs and scrubbing
faces and fingers in fresh water.

They sang like seraphs, grouped around the piano, fingers linked behind
their backs. First it was "The Vicar of Bray." Then--and the cat fled at
the first chord--"Lochleven Castle":

"Put off, put off,
And row with speed
For now is the time and the hour of need."

Miss Erroll sang, too; her voice leading--a charmingly trained, but
childlike voice, of no pretensions, as fresh and unspoiled as the girl
herself.

There was an interval after "Castles in the Air"; Eileen sat, with her
marvellously white hands resting on the keys, awaiting further