“Oh, Miss Alden, sing us another song,” clamored a dozen voices.

“Yes,” cried Jennie Muir; “the funny one you sang for us in the woods.”

Madge smilingly complied, and the children fairly danced in their delight at the comical strains, abrupt pauses, droll sentiment, and interlarded words of explanation.  The more elderly guests were attracted, and the audience grew apace.  Having finished her little musical comedy, Madge arose, and Mr. Arnault, aware of Stella Wildmere’s ability to sing selections from opera, said, “Since the children have been so well entertained, I suggest that we who have the misfortune to be grown have our turn, and that Miss Wildmere give us some grown-up music.”

Madge flushed slightly, and Miss Wildmere, after a little charming hesitation, seated herself at the piano, and sang almost faultlessly a selection from an opera.  It was evident that she had been well and carefully trained, and that within her limitations, which she thoughtfully remembered, she gave little occasion for criticism.  Both her suitors were delighted.  They applauded so heartily, and urged so earnestly with others, that she sang again and again, to the unaffected pleasure of the throng who had now gathered.  At last she pleaded fatigue, and rose from the instrument, flushing proudly amid vociferous encores.  Graydon was about to ask Madge to sing again, when an old gentleman who had listened to the children’s ditties, and had detected unusual sweetness and power in Madge’s tones, said, promptly, “I may be mistaken, but I have an impression that Miss Alden can give us some grown-up music, if she will.”

Instantly his suggestion was seconded by general entreaty, in which not only Graydon joined from sincere good-will, but also Mr. Arnault, in the hope of giving Stella a triumph, for he believed that the best her social rival could do would be to render some ballad fairly well.

Madge’s brow contracted, as though she were irresolute and troubled.

“Truly, Miss Alden,” said Stella, who was standing near, “I have done my part to beguile the dismal day; I think you might favor us, also.  There are no critics here, I hope.  We should enjoy a simple song if you cannot now recall anything else.”

“Very well, then, I will give you a little German song that my old teacher loved well;” but Graydon saw the same slight flush and a resolute expression take the place of her hesitancy.

After a brief prelude, which, to his trained ear, revealed her perfect touch, her voice rose with a sweet, resonant power that held those near spellbound, and swelled in volume until people in distant parts of the house paused and listened as if held by a viewless hand.  Connoisseurs felt that they were listening to an artist and not an amateur; plain men and women, and the children, knew simply that they were enjoying music that entranced them, that set their nerves thrilling and vibrating.  Madge hoped only that her voice