work. Your days of leisure are over now."

Isabel offered him a small, cool hand. Her eyes were brilliant, brought
out by the sparkling silver of her gown. She glittered even in the low
light of the room. "Good-night, Silver Girl," he said. "You haven't
really grown up after all."

When the door closed, Rose gathered up the music he had forgotten, and
put it away. Isabel came to her contritely. "Cousin Rose, I'm so sorry I
said that! I didn't think!"

"Don't bother about it," Rose replied, kindly. "It was nothing at all,
and, besides, it's true."

"'Tell the truth and shame the--family,'" misquoted Madame Bernard. "Age
and false hair are not things to be flaunted, Isabel, remember that."

Isabel flushed at the rebuke, and her cheeks were still burning when she
went to her room.

"I don't care," she said to herself, with a swift change of mood. "I'm
glad I told him. They'd never have done it, and it's just as well for
him to know."

Madame Bernard and Rose soon followed her example, but Rose could not
sleep. Through the night the voice of the violin sounded through her
consciousness, calling, calling, calling--heedless of the answer that
thrilled her to the depths of her soul.