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“Capital!” cried Delroy. “What next? Come—the third verse!”

But Miss Croydon rose abruptly from the piano.

“No,” she said; “I protest. I’ve no doubt it goes from bad to worse! I’m afraid to listen!”

“You are wrong, Miss Croydon,” said Tremaine, smiling full into her eyes. “You do me an injustice. I assure you there is no third verse,” and he joined the Delroys where they sat before the fire.