At such times it was very easy to slip up-stairs to Cyril's rooms, and once at the piano, Billy forgot everything else.
One day, however, the inevitable happened: Cyril came home unexpectedly.
The man heard the piano from William's floor, and with a surprised ejaculation he hurried upstairs two steps at a time.

At the door he stopped in amazement.
Billy was at the piano, but she was not playing "rag-time," "The Storm," nor yet "The Maiden's Prayer." There was no music before her, but under her fingers "big bass notes" very much like Cyril's own, were marching on and on to victory.

Billy's face was rapturously intent and happy.
"By Jove--Billy!" gasped the man.
Billy leaped to her feet and whirled around guiltily.
"Oh, Mr.Cyril--I'm so sorry!" "Sorry!--and you play like that!" "No, no; I'm not sorry I played.

It's because you--found me." Billy's cheeks were a shamed red, but her eyes were defiantly brilliant, and her chin was at a rebellious tilt.

"I wasn't doing any--harm; not if you weren't here--with your NERVES!" The man laughed and came slowly into the room.
"Billy, who taught you to play ?" "No one.