d to him.

At last she played Liszt's brilliant Hungarian Rhapsody, her slender hands
taking the tremendous chords and octave runs with a precision and rapidity
that seemed inspired. The final crash came in a shower of liquid jewels of
sound, and then she turned to look at him, her one friend in that company
of strangers.

He could see that she had been playing under a heavy strain. Her face
looked weary and flushed, and her eyes were brilliant with feverish
excitement. Those eyes seemed to be pleading with him now to set her free
from the kindly scrutiny of these good-hearted, curious strangers. They
gathered about her in delight, pouring their questions and praises upon
her.

"Where did you study? With some great master, I am sure. Tell us all about
yourself. We are dying to know, and will sit at your feet with great
delight while you discourse."

Tryon Dunham interrupted these disquieting questions, by drawing his watch
from his pocket with apparent hasty remembrance, and giving a well feigned
exclamation of dismay.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bowman; it is too bad to interrupt this delightful
evening," he apologized; "but I'm afraid if Miss Remington feels that she
must take the next train, we shall have to make all possible speed. Miss
Remington, can you get your wraps on in three minutes? Our carriage is
probably at the door now."

With a look of relief, yet keeping up her part of dismay over the lateness
of the hour, the girl sprang to her feet, and hurried away to get her
wraps, in spite of her protesting hostess. Mrs. Bowman was held at bay
with sweet expressions of gratitude for the pleasant entertainment. The
great black picture hat was settled becomingly on the small head, the
black cloak thrown over her gown, and the gloves fitted on hurriedly to
hide the fact that they were too large.

"And whom did you say you studied with?" asked the keen hostess,
determined to be able to tell how great a guest she had harbored for the
evening.

"Oh, is Mr. Dunham calling me, Mrs. Bo