The young man who had just sung was still at the piano, softly playing variations on the same air. She gave him one hurried glance. He was tall and fair, with blue eyes and a silky blonde moustache, and he wore a velveteen coat, much the worse for wear, and a turn-down collar that showed to advantage the fine outlines of his throat and the graceful poise of his head. These details Elizabeth grasped at once before her gaze wandered to her aunt and Amanda, who were sitting idle as she had never before seen them in the morning, with eyes intent on the young man at the piano. Elizabeth noticed that Amanda had on her Sunday frock and her hair very much frizzed.

The girl had entered so softly that the three people already in the room did not at first notice her presence. When they at last did so, it seemed to cause something of a shock. Her aunt and Amanda stared at her in silence, and Amanda turned a trifle pale. The young man rose from the piano and looked at her intently for a moment with his bright blue eyes; then he re-seated himself and went on playing, but much more softly, and as if hardly conscious of what he did.

Elizabeth's aunt was the first to recover herself, and upon second thought it occurred to her that her niece had arrived at an opportune moment—when she and Amanda had on their best clothes, and were entertaining company. This reflection tempered the usual austerity of her greeting. "Why, Elizabeth, is that you? You're quite a stranger. It isn't often you honor us with your company."

"You know," said Elizabeth, quite used to the formula of reproach and excuse, with which these visits invariably opened "the white pony has been lame, and I have driven out very little."

"And you couldn't come on your wheel, I suppose? Nothing short of a carriage would do for you. I wonder you don't insist on a groom in top-boots. But well, never mind," Aunt Rebecca went on, feeling that she had sufficiently maintained her dignity "you're very welcome now, I'm sure, and you're just in time to hear some music. This is Paul Halleck, who has been kind enough to sing for us. Mr. Halleck, this is Amanda's cousin Elizabeth, whom you've heard us speak of." There was an odd note of grudging satisfaction in her voice as she made the introduction. Mrs. Jones's feeling towards her niece was a complex one, characterized on the one hand, by an involuntary sense of resentment at the elevation of Malvina's girl, on the other, by an equally involuntary pride in the connection. The latter sensation predominated when she introduced Elizabeth to a stranger whom she wished to impress.

Elizabeth's chief feeling was one of annoyance, and it brought an angry flush to her cheek. Then she caught the look in the young man's eyes, as he rose and bowed with much deference; and her own eyes fell and again she blushed, but not with anger.

"I have had the pleasure of seeing Miss Van Vorst before," said Paul Halleck, "though she has not, of course, noticed me."

"Why, yes, of course," said Elizabeth's aunt, still in high good humor, "you've seen her when you were out sketching. You see, Elizabeth, he's a painter as well as a singer; he's quite a genius, altogether. We find him a great acquisition to our parties here at The Mills. And to think that he was born here, and lived here part of his life! You remember the Hallecks that went West when you were a child? They settled in Chicago, you know. He only came to New York awhile ago, and thought he'd look up his folks in this place. But there, Elizabeth, sit down, and perhaps Mr. Halleck will give us another tune."

Elizabeth silently took the chair the young man placed for her, while her aunt still talked on volubly. The girl was bewildered by what she heard. She could not imagine this handsome young singer, with his air of picturesque Bohemia, as an acquisition to the parties of Bassett Mills; nor did he seem at home in her aunt's parlor. She glanced about the commonplace, gaudy little room, every detail of which impressed itself upon her with a new sense of its crudeness; the plush-covered furniture, staring wall-paper, the lace anti-macassars, the photographs of the family, the men in high hats, the women simpering in their Sunday clothes. It did not seem the fit atmosphere for an artist. And then, with a sudden, sharp misgiving, Elizabeth looked at Amanda, and asked herself for a moment if she could be the attraction. The doubt vanished instantly. Poor Amanda was not pretty at the best of times, and there was a sullen look on her face just then that made her appear at her worst. She had a dull, pasty skin and very light eyes. All the color seemed to be concentrated in her hair, which was a deep, dark red, all the more striking for the contrast to her pale face. The gown she wore, of a bright yellow, was peculiarly successful in bringing out the faded tints of her complexion and the jarring vividness of her hair.

Amanda at that moment felt to the full the unkindness of fate. She had not shared for an instant her mother's gratification at Elizabeth's entrance. It was hard, she thought, that, having arrayed herself in her best, and struggled long to look beautiful, she should be completely over-shadowed by Elizabeth in the cool white gown and shady hat, which had a provoking air of not being her best, but merely her natural and everyday attire. Amanda had seen, as well as Elizabeth, the look in Paul's eyes. Was it fair, she asked herself, that she should share her good things with Elizabeth, who had so many of her own? And so Amanda sat silent and sullen, while her mother talked on, and Halleck ran his fingers over the keys, as if he would fain be playing.

"What shall I sing?" he asked abruptly, in the first pause, and looking at Elizabeth as if her wishes alone were of any consequence.

"Oh, the Evening Star again," she responded eagerly. "I only heard the end of it, and it brought up so many delightful memories."

So Halleck sang the song again. A voice, artistically modulated, filled the little room, which vanished for Elizabeth. She saw pilgrims filing past in slow procession, TannhÄuser struggling against the power of the Venusberg, Elizabeth kneeling in her penitent's dress before the cross. The whole Wagnerian drama unrolled itself before her eyes while the song lasted. And then, as the last note died away, she came back to the present with a start, and realized that the young man who had just afforded her this pleasure was handsomer far than any Wolfram she had ever seen before.

"Ah, thank you," she said, drawing a long breath. "That is so beautiful. It is so long since I have heard any music."

"You are fond of it?" said Halleck, eagerly.

"Yes," she responded, earnestly.

"Ah, I saw it—I was sure of it," he declared. "You have the artistic temperament. I saw it in your face at once."

Elizabeth blushed for the third time that morning, and now with a distinct sense of pleasure. Amanda, too, flushed a dull red. She was not quite certain what the artistic temperament might be, but it was clearly one of those good things of which Elizabeth had an unfair monopoly.

"You play or sing yourself, of course?" Halleck went on.

"Oh, I play a little," Elizabeth pouted out her full under-lip, in charming deprecation of her own powers. "I am ashamed, before a real musician, to say that I play at all."

"I am not a real musician, alas!" said Halleck, "only a dabbler in music, as I am in art." A thoughtful look came into his blue eyes, and he went on absently playing fragments from TannhÄuser. "I am glad you like that," he said, abruptly. "You remember the heroine was called Elizabeth."

"Yes," said Elizabeth, "I remember." It gave her an odd little thrill of pleasure to hear him pronounce her name, and yet she wondered if his remark were not too personal to be in good taste. "But I don't think I am at all like that Elizabeth," she added, after a moment, following out his suggestion in spite of this doubt.

"No, perhaps not," said Halleck, regarding her with a calm scrutiny, in which he seemed to appraise her no longer as a woman, but purely from an artistic point of view. "You are not exactly that type; you have more life and color, less spirituality, perhaps; but you are fair, and your hair would do admirably. You would make a beautiful picture with your hair unbound, kneeling before the cross."

"I have never had my picture painted," Elizabeth murmured, trying to imagine herself in a penitent's garb.

"Will you let me try it?"

Elizabeth smiled and assented, deciding that no long acquaintance was necessary, when it was a question of having her picture painted, in a costume which she was quite determined should be becoming. She sat mentally reviewing the resources of her wardrobe, while Halleck struck sonorous chords on the piano, and asked if she recognized this or that Wagnerian theme, upon which he proceeded to extemporize. Amanda and her mother were distinctly left out, and the latter began to repent of her first satisfaction in her niece's visit. She broke in at last, brusquely, upon the very midst of the love-music from "Tristan and Isolde." "Well, I don't think much of this Wagner," she said. "His music all sounds the same—a lot of queer noises, with no tune to them. What I like now is 'Home, Sweet Home,' or 'Nancy Lee'—something real nice and catchy."

"I can play those, too," said Halleck, good-humoredly, and immediately played the first mentioned air, with variations of his own improvisation. At the end of it he rose from the piano. "Won't you play for me now," he said to Elizabeth.

"Oh, no, not after you." Elizabeth shook her head and rose to her feet, with a sudden recollection of the white pony and her aunt's dinner-hour. "Some other day," she said, "I'll be very glad to play for you, but really now I have not the time—or the courage." She spoke with a pretty, smiling deference, and she held out her hand, which he took in a long, lingering grasp. There was a soft glow of color in her cheeks, her eyes were cast down till he could see only her long lashes. "Thank you so much," she said "for the music." Then she drew her hand away from his and kissed her aunt and Amanda, with an unwonted display of affection. She felt an odd sense of excitement, a wish to be friendly with all the world.

Neither her aunt nor Amanda seemed to share it. They did not try to detain her, and Halleck, though he looked disappointed, said nothing. They all three escorted her to the door of the shop, where the white pony stood patiently enduring the heat and the flies. Elizabeth lingered over her farewells. She wished to ask her new acquaintance to come to see her, but disliked doing so before her aunt and cousin. It was he who finally said, leaning over her as he placed the reins in her hand: "And—a—how about that picture? May I come to see you about it?"

Elizabeth's eyes were still hidden as she answered demurely: "I am sure I—we shall be very glad to see you at the Homestead."

And then she drove off, and the others stood for a moment and looked after her in silence.

"She—she's pretty—isn't she," said Amanda, suddenly speaking for the first time since Elizabeth had appeared. Her voice, even to herself, sounded harsh and grating. Her lips were very dry.

Halleck started and looked at her as if reminded of her existence. Then a smile stole over his face and sparkled in his handsome blue eyes.

"Yes, she's rather pretty," he answered, carelessly "but—a little disappointing on a close view. However, she'll do very well as a model—she's picturesque, at least."

Amanda drew a long breath of sudden and intense relief.