"This!" He selected an old German ballad, long ago a favorite in the
highest musical circles, but now cast aside for something newer and more
brilliant. A simple, touching little song of love and sorrow.

She was about to decline singing it, but something told her to beware
of false modesty, and she sang it through.

"I thank you!" he said, earnestly, when she had finished. "It has done me
good. My mother used to sing that song, and I have never wanted to hear
it from any other lips--_until now_."

Alexandrine glided along, as radiant as a humming-bird, her cheeks
flushed, her black eyes sparkling, her voice sweet as a siren's.

"Sentimentalizing, I declare!" she exclaimed, gayly; "and singing that
dreadful song, too! Ugh! it gives me the cold shudders to listen to it!
How can you sing it, Margie, dear?"

"Miss Harrison sang it at my request, Miss Lee," said Trevlyn, gravely,
"it is an old favorite of mine. Shall I not listen to you now?"

Alexandrine took the seat Margie had vacated, and glanced up at the two
faces so near her.

"Why, Margie!" she said, "a moment ago I thought you were a rose, and now
you are a lily! What is the matter?"

"Nothing, thank you," returned Margie, coldly. "I am weary, and will go
home soon, I think."