his head in that listening attitude, a curious, resentful light came into
her eyes.

Presently, she asked abruptly, "What is it that you hear?"

"I thought I heard music," he answered, coloring slightly and turning to
his work with suddenly absorbing interest.

"The violin that so enchanted you when I came to break the spell?" she
persisted playfully--though the light in her eyes was not a playful light.

"Yes," he answered shortly; stepping back and shading his eyes with his
hand for a careful look at his canvas.

"And don't you know who it is?"

"You said it was an old professor somebody."

"That was my _first_ guess," she retorted. "Was I right?"

"I don't know."

"But it comes from that little box of a house, next door, doesn't it?"

"Evidently," the artist answered. Then, laying aside his palette and
brushes he said abruptly, "That is all for to-day; thank you."

"Oh, so soon!" she exclaimed; and the regret in her voice was very
pleasing to the man who was decidedly not a mechanical something.