At that moment his downcast gaze fell on Julius Revington's guitar which that worthy had forgotten in his hurried and angry exit from Irene's presence. A jealous gleam lightened in his brown eyes.
"Ah, I see that Mr. Revington has already been with you this morning," he said frigidly.
"Yes," she replied, with coldness equal to his own.
"Are you fond of music?" he inquired, taking up the instrument, and striking a few chords, softly.
"Passionately," she replied.
Obeying a sudden impulse he played a soft, sweet symphony and began to sing in a mellow baritone. He had chosen the beautiful song, "My Queen," and the girl's heart vibrated painfully to the sweetness of the strain.
"Who will be his queen?" she asked herself, with a jealous pang at her heart. "He is so grand and handsome, he will only love some one gifted beyond her sex with beauty and genius. Ah, why did I come between him and his future?"
She looked at him wistfully when he had finished.
"I did not know you could sing like that," she said.
"Is it equal to Revington's performances?" he inquired, smiling at her implied compliment.