Miss Travers had other reasons for wanting to be alone.  That very afternoon, just after stable-call, she found herself unoccupied for the time being, and decided to go over and see Mrs. Waldron a few moments.  The servant admitted her to the little army parlor, and informed her that Mrs. Waldron had stepped out, but would be home directly.  A bright wood fire was blazing on the hearth and throwing flickering lights and shadows about the cosey room.  The piano stood invitingly open, and on the rack were some waltzes of Strauss she remembered having heard the cavalry band play a night or two previous.  Seating herself, she began to try them, and speedily became interested.  Her back being to the door, she did not notice that another visitor was soon ushered in,—­a man.  She continued slowly “picking out” the melody, for the light was growing dim and it was with difficulty that she could distinguish the notes.  Twice she essayed a somewhat complicated passage, became entangled, bent down and closely scanned the music, began again, once more became involved, exclaimed impatiently, “How absurd!” and whirled about on the piano-stool, to find herself facing Mr. Hayne.

Now that the bandage was removed from his eyes it was no such easy matter to meet him.  Her sweet face flushed instantly as he bent low and spoke her name.

“I had no idea any one was here.  It quite startled me,” she said, as she withdrew from his the hand she had mechanically extended to him.

“It was my hope not to interrupt you,” he answered, in the low, gentle voice she had marked before.  “You helped me when my music was all adrift the other night:  may I not help you find some of this?”

“I wish you would play, Mr. Hayne.”

“I will play for you gladly, Miss Travers, but waltz-music is not my forte.  Let me see what else there is here.”  And he began turning over the sheets on the stand.

“Are your eyes well enough to read music,—­especially in such a dim light?” she asked, with evident sympathy.

“My eyes are doing very well,—­better than my fingers, in fact,—­and, as I rarely play by note after I once learn a piece, the eyes make no difference.  What music do you like?  I merely looked at this collection thinking you might see something that pleased you.”

“Mrs. Ray told me you played Rubinstein so well,—­that melody in F, for one.”

“Did Mrs. Ray speak of that?”—­his face brightening.  “I’m glad they found anything to enjoy in my music.”

“‘They’ found a great deal, Mr. Hayne, and there are a number who are envious of their good fortune,—­I, for one,” she answered, blithely.  “Now play for me.  Mrs. Waldron will be here in a minute.”