"Soft o'er the fountain
Ling'ring falls the southern moon—"
"If that isn't Wally all over," thought Mary. "He thinks Helen's here, and he wants to make up."
But how did he know Helen was there? And why was he singing so sadly, so plaintively just underneath Mary's window? Another possibility came to her mind and she was still wondering what to do when Helen came in, even as she had come in that night so long ago when Wally had sung Juanita before.
"Wait till morning! He'll hear from me!" said Helen in indignation.
Wally's song was growing fainter. He had evidently turned and was walking toward the driveway. A minute later the rumble of a car was heard.
"If he thinks he can talk to me the way he did," said Helen, more indignant than before, "and then come around here like that—serenading you—!"
"Oh, Helen, don't," said Mary, trembling. "…I think he was saying good-bye…. Wait till I put the light on…."
The distress in her voice cheeked Helen's anger, and a moment later the two cousins were staring at each other, two tragic figures suddenly uncovered from the mantle of light.
"I won't go back to my room; I'll stay here," whispered Helen at last.
"Don't fret, Mary; he won't do anything."
It was a long time, though, before Mary could stop trembling, but an hour later when the telephone bell began ringing downstairs, she found that her old habit of calmness had fallen on her again.