“Yes, I know what you mean, Mr. Traverse, but I do not play that piece for everybody.”

“Not for me, Miss Dexie?”

“No.”

“What’s all this about a piece of music, Dexie?  I didn’t come here to hear you two quarrelling,” and her father smiled over at them.  “Let us have the piece you were playing first, Dexie.  It sounded fairly well, the little I heard of it.”

“Choose something else, papa.  Shall I play your favorite?” and she struck a few chords.

“No, not that!  What is the reason you can’t play the one I ask for?”

“That piece of music is only for one pair of ears, and they are not yours, papa, nor do they belong to Mr. Traverse.  Name something else.”

Her father, looked at her in surprise, and then laughed.

“You have raised my curiosity, Dexie.  You will surely play it for me when I ask you?” “No, papa; it is sacred to the memory of someone else.”

“But what if I command you to do so?”

“You will not do that, papa dear, I know,” and she looked over with a world of entreaty in her eyes.

“Well, well, has it come to this!” he said, with a soft laugh.  “Did I ever expect to hear Dexie say such a thing to me!  See how badly I am used, Traverse; she actually refuses to obey me, knowing very well I cannot punish her for disobedience.  Well, well! who would think it of Dexie?”

“Perhaps it is one of her own compositions that she is trying to keep hidden under a bushel, as it were,” said Guy, with a sudden inspiration.

“Oh, now you are wrong! and, to prove it, you shall be made to listen to one of my very own pieces as a punishment,” and she turned again to the piano.

“Dexie, is that your own?” when the last chords had died away.

“Yes, papa, all mine, and I have a verse or two composed to suit the music; so be careful, or I’ll inflict them upon you as well.”

“Now, gentlemen,” she added, “what else shall I favor you with—­instrumental music, or songs, ballads, whistling choruses, or what?  I await your orders.  I have an extensive repertoire from which you may select,” and her fingers passed softly over the keys as she smilingly waited.

“Then it is no use to ask for that one piece, Miss Dexie?” Guy said, in a low voice.

“No, sir, not at all!  I only play that when—­well, when I am sentimentally inclined, you know.  Did I not say it was sacred to someone else?” and she lifted a saucy face to Guy’s gaze.

Then without a moment’s pause Dexie began to sing, and she soon charmed away the frown that had gathered over Guy’s face on hearing her frank admission.  He stood and watched her as she sang, feeling that she had the power to make or mar his life.

“Now, papa, you have heard quite enough, I am sure,” she said, at last, going over to his side.  “You are looking tired.”

“There! that is just the way I am served.  Directly I am beginning to enjoy myself, my pleasures are nipped in the bud;” then changing his tone, he added, “Yes, dear child, I do feel a little weary.  If Traverse will be kind enough to wheel me back to my room, I guess I will let Jarvis put me to bed; I hear her rummaging about looking for me now,” and he smiled as he drew her face down and kissed it.