herself, and when her eyes met his own they struck him as anxious and appealing. She was evidently not thinking of his song, though she said three or four times over that it was beautiful. "Well, I only wanted you to know, and now I must go," she added; but on his hearthrug she lingered with such an odd helplessness that he felt almost sorry for her.
"Perhaps I can improve it if you find it doesn't go," said Baron. "I'm so delighted to do anything for you I can."
"There may be a word or two that might be changed," she answered, rather absently. "I shall have to think it over, to live with it a little. But I like it, and that's all I wanted to say."
"Charming of you. I'm not a bit busy," said Baron.
Again she looked at him with a troubled intensity, then suddenly she demanded: "Is there anything the matter with you?"
"The matter with me?"
"I mean like being ill or worried. I wondered if there might be; I had a sudden fancy; and that, I think, is really why I came up."
"There isn't, indeed; I'm all right. But your sudden fancies are inspirations."
"It's absurd. You must excuse me. Good-by!" said Mrs. Ryves.
"What are the words you want changed?" Baron asked.
"I don't want any—if you're all right. Good-
