The next moment he seated himself again at the piano.
Twice he played the little song through carefully, slowly.
"Now, sing it," he directed.
Falteringly, in a very faint voice, and with very many breaths taken where they should not have been taken, Billy obeyed.
"When we want to show off your song, Billy, we won't ask you to sing it," observed the man, dryly, when she had finished.
Billy laughed and dimpled into a blush.
"When I want to show off my song I sha'n't be singing it to you for the first time," she pouted.
Cyril did not answer.

He was playing over and over certain harmonies in the music before him.
"Hm-m; I see you've studied your counterpoint to some purpose," he vouchsafed, finally; then: "Where did you get the words ?" The girl hesitated.

The flush had deepened on her face.
"Well, I--" she stopped and gave an embarrassed laugh.

"I'm like the small boy who made the toys.

'I got them all out of my own head, and there's wood enough to make another.'" "Hm-m; indeed!" grunted the man.