``Of course not!'' Bertram's face was
preternaturally grave as he turned to the little music
teacher. ``I hope, Miss Marie, that you wear
rubber heels on your shoes,'' he observed solicitously.

Even Cyril laughed at this, though all he said
was:

``Come, come, I got you up here to look at the
rug.''

Bertram, however, was not to be silenced.

``And another thing, Miss Marie,'' he resumed,
with the air of a true and tried adviser. ``Just
let me give you a pointer. I've lived with your
future husband a good many years, and I know
what I'm talking about.''

``Bertram, be still,'' growled Cyril.

Bertram refused to be still.

``Whenever you want to know anything about
Cyril, listen to his playing. For instance: if,
after dinner, you hear a dreamy waltz or a sleepy
nocturne, you may know that all is well. But if
on your ears there falls anything like a dirge, or
the wail of a lost spirit gone mad, better look to