“I'm not acquainted with the lady.”
“Gee! wouldn't you two make a pair!” chuckled Billy unexpectedly. “No; but, really, I mean—do you want people to walk on tiptoe and speak in whispers?”
“Sometimes, perhaps.”
The girl sprang to her feet—but she sighed.
“Then I'm going. This might be one of the times, you know.” She hesitated, then walked to the piano. “My, wouldn't I like to play on that!” she breathed.
Cyril shuddered. Cyril could imagine what Billy would play—and Cyril did not like “rag-time,” nor “The Storm.”
“Oh, do you play?” he asked constrainedly.
Billy shook her head.
“Not much. Only little bits of things, you know,” she said wistfully, as she turned toward the door.
For some minutes after she had gone, Cyril stood where she had left him, his eyes moody and troubled.