"I thought it was Stella," she began.
"I'm a book agent," said Bert, rising with his best grace; "I might as well out with it. I'm here to board."
"Oh!" said the girl, with some relief. She was very fair and very slight, almost frail. Her eyes were of the sunniest blue, her face pale and somewhat thin, but her lips showed scarlet, and her teeth were fine. Bert liked her and smiled.
"A book agent is the next thing to a burglar, I know; but still——"
"Oh, I didn't mean that, but I was surprised. When did you come?"
"Just a few moments ago. Am I in your way?" he inquired, with elaborate solicitude.
"Oh, no! Please go on; you play very well, I think. It is so seldom young men play."
"I had to at college; the other fellows all wanted to sing. You play, of course."
"When I have time." She sighed. There was a weary droop in her voice; she seemed aware of it, and said more brightly:
"You mean Marion, I suppose?"