"Dexie, is that your own?" when the last chords had died away.
"Yes, papa, all mine, and I have a verse or two composed to suit the music;
so be careful, or I'll inflict them upon you as well."
"Now, gentlemen," she added, "what else shall I favor you
with--instrumental music, or songs, ballads, whistling choruses, or what? I
await your orders. I have an extensive repertoire from which you may
select," and her fingers passed softly over the keys as she smilingly
waited.
"Then it is no use to ask for that one piece, Miss Dexie?" Guy said, in a
low voice.
"No, sir, not at all! I only play that when--well, when I am sentimentally
inclined, you know. Did I not say it was sacred to someone else?" and she
lifted a saucy face to Guy's gaze.
Then without a moment's pause Dexie began to sing, and she soon charmed
away the frown that had gathered over Guy's face on hearing her frank
admission. He stood and watched her as she sang, feeling that she had the
power to make or mar his life.
"Now, papa, you have heard quite enough, I am sure," she said, at last,
going over to his side. "You are looking tired.
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