A sudden thought had struck her, remembrance of another beauteous
lady who had been "learned" to harp. She gazed down on Aunt Isabel--
how beautiful there in the white moonlight! So fair and slight, the
scarf-thing around her shoulders like a shroud of mist, hair like
unto gold, eyes like the stars of heaven. Her eyes were now lifted
laughingly to Mr. Saunders'. She was so close he must catch that
faintly sweetness of her hair. He returned the look and started to
sing again; while La Beale--no, Aunt Isabel--

Even the names were alike!

Missy drew in a quick, sharp breath. Mr. Saunders, now smiling
straight at Aunt Isabel as she tried to pick the chords, went on:

"They plucked the stars out of the blue, dear, Gave them to you,
dear, For eyes . . ."

How expressively he sang those words! Missy became troubled. Of
course Romance was beautiful but those things belonged in ancient
times. You wouldn't want things like that right in your own family,
especially when Uncle Charlie already had a broken big toe . . .

She forgot that the music was beautiful, the night bewitching; she
even forgot to listen to what Raleigh was saying, till he leaned
forward and demanded irately:

"Say! you haven't gone to sleep, have you?"

Missy gave a start, blinked, and looked self-conscious.