A murmuring, deep-toned trio accompanied him.
"Soft o'er the fountain Ling'ring falls the southern moon--" The beauty of it brought a thrill to the roots of Mary's hair--brought quick tears to her eyes--and she was wondering if Wally was right, after all--if love (as he often told her) was indeed the one great thing of life and nothing else mattered, when her door opened and Helen came twittering in.
"A serenade!" she whispered excitedly.

"Im-a-gine!" She tip-toed to the window and, kneeling on the floor, watched the singers through the curtain--knowing well it wasn't for her, but drinking deep of the moment.
Slowly, sweetly, the chorus grew fainter--fainter-- "Nita--Juanita Ask thy soul if we should part--" "What do you think of that!" said Helen, leaning over and giving her cousin a squeeze and a kiss.

"He had the two Garde boys and Will Thompson with him.

I thought he was leaving earlier than usual tonight; didn't you?
But a serenade! I wonder if the others heard it, too!" Miss Patty and Miss Cordelia had both heard it, and Helen had hardly gone when they came pattering in--each as proud as Punch of Mary for having caused such miracles to perform--and gleeful, too, that they had lived in the land long enough to hear a real, live serenade.

And after they had kissed her and gone, Ma'm Maynard came in with a pretty little speech in French.