Part 23 (1/2)

He got up and went to the piano.

”What do you sing?”

But she hadn't moved and she didn't reply. So he urged her.

”In the woods when you're coming home----?”

”Oh, I don't know----It just comes out--things I've heard--things I make up----”

”What have you heard? I don't know that I can accompany you, but I'll try.”

She was flus.h.i.+ng painfully. He could see that she wanted to sing for him--to be a part of this wonderful dream-world in which he belonged, and yet she did not dare.

”What have you heard?” he repeated softly, encouraging her by running his fingers slowly over the simple chords of a major key.

Suddenly she started up and joined him by the piano.

”That's it--'The long, long trail a-windin'----” and in a moment was singing softly. He had heard the air and fell in with her almost at once.

”There's a long, long trail a-winding Into the land of my dreams, Where the nightingale is singing And a bright moon beams----”

Like the good musician that he was, Peter submerged himself, playing gently, his gaze on his fingers, while he listened. He had made no mistake. The distances across which he had heard her had not flattered.

Her voice was untrained, of course, but it seemed to Peter that it had lost nothing by the neglect, for as she gained confidence, she forgot Peter, as he intended that she should, and sang with the complete abstraction of a thrush in the deep wood. Like the thrush's note, too, Beth's was limpid, clear, and sweet, full of forest sounds--the falling brook, the sigh of night winds....

When the song ended he told her so.

”You do say nice things, don't you?” she said joyously.

”Wouldn't you--if it cost you nothing and was the truth? You must have your voice trained.”

”Must! I might jump over the moon if I had a broomstick.”

”It's got to be managed somehow.”

”Then you're not disappointed in the way it sounds, close up?”

She stood beside him, leaning against the piano, her face flushed, her breath rapid, searching his face eagerly. Peter knew that it was only the dormant artist in her seeking the light, but he thrilled warmly at her nearness, for she was very lovely. Peter's acquaintance with women had been varied, but, curiously enough, each meeting with this girl instead of detracting had only added to her charm.

”No. I'm not disappointed in it,” he said quite calmly, every impulse in him urging a stronger expression. But he owed a duty to himself.

_n.o.blesse oblige!_ It was one of the mottoes of his House--(not always followed--alas!). With a more experienced woman he would have said what was in his mind. He would probably have taken her in his arms and kissed her at once, for that was really what he would have liked to do. But Beth....

Perhaps something in the coolness of his tone disconcerted her, for she turned away from the piano.

”You're very kind,” she said quietly.

He had a feeling that she was about to slip away from him, so he got up.

”Won't you sing again, Beth?”

But she shook her head. For some reason the current that had run between them was broken. As she moved toward the door, he caught her by the hand.