For the second time, in the presence of this man, Billy found herself unable to refer to her engagement to Bertram Henshaw--though this time she did not in the least doubt that Arkwright already knew of it.
With a little gesture of playful scorn she rose and went to the piano.
"Come, let us try some duets," she suggested.

"That's lots nicer than quarrelling over velvet coats; and Aunt Hannah will be down presently to hear us sing." Before she had ceased speaking, Arkwright was at her side with an exclamation of eager acquiescence.
It was after the second duet that Arkwright asked, a little diffidently.
"Have you written any new songs lately ?" "No." "You're going to ?" "Perhaps--if I find one to write." "You mean--you have no words ?" "Yes--and no.

I have some words, both of my own and other people's; but I haven't found in any one of them, yet--a melody." Arkwright hesitated.

His right hand went almost to his inner coat pocket--then fell back at his side.

The next moment he picked up a sheet of music.
"Are you too tired to try this ?" he asked.
A puzzled frown appeared on Billy's face.
"Why, no, but--" "Well, children, I've come down to hear the music," announced Aunt Hannah, smilingly, from the doorway; "only--Billy, _will_ you run up and get my pink shawl, too?
This room _is_ colder than I thought, and there's only the white one down here." "Of course," cried Billy, rising at once.