for the finale. Silence. Scharwenka's "Polish Dance," with a swing and a fire beyond anything she had ever heard before. Another stretch of silence—a silence full of interrogation points. Then a tender little sketch, quite unfamiliar. But all at once she understood. He was imploring her to return. She smiled in the dark; but she knew she was going to remain right where she was.
"Miss Conover?" It was the voice of the nurse.
"Yes. I'm over here on the divan."
"Anything wrong?"
"Good gracious, no! I'm overtired. A little hysterical, maybe. The parade to-day, with all those wounded boys in automobiles, the music and colour and excitement—have rather done me up. And the way I rushed up here. And not finding Cutty"
"Anything I can get for you?"
"No, thanks. I'll try to snatch a little sleep before Cutty returns."
"But he may be gone all night!"
"Will it be so very scandalous if I stay here?"
"You poor child! Go ahead and sleep. Don't hesitate to call me if you want anything. I have a mild sedative if you would like it."
"No, thanks. I did not know that Mr. Hawksley played."
"Wonderfully! But does it bother you?"
"It kind of makes me choky."
"I'll tell him."
