head in approval.

"He's worth knowing," she thought; "I'll have a lot of fun with
him."

The programme was almost over, but Kit was to play once again. With
Marie, he played a fine selection, and then, as he was tumultuously
encored, he went back to the platform alone. Without accompaniment
he played the little song, "Beware," that Patty had sung, and,
improvising, he made a fantasia of the air. He was clever as well as
skilled, and he turned the simple little melody into thrilling,
rollicking music with trills and roulades until the original theme
was almost lost sight of, only to crop up again with new intensity.

Patty listened, enthralled. She loved this sort of thing, and she
knew he was playing to her and for her. The strains would be now
softly romantic, now grandly triumphant, but ever recurring to the
main motive, until one seemed fairly to see the fickle maiden of the
song.

When it was ended, the room rang with applause. Cameron bowed
simply, and laying aside his violin, went straight to Patty and sat
down by her, coolly appropriating the chair which his cousin Marie
had just left.

"I made that for you," he said, simply. "Did you like it?"

"Like it!" exclaimed Patty, her blue eyes dancing; "I revelled in
it! It was wonderful! Was it really impromptu?"