the chances perhaps against him.

The tiny parlor had little in it beside the upright piano because there
was no space. But the paper, the carpet and curtains, the few pieces of
furniture, showed no evidence of bad taste, of painful failure at the
effort to "make a front." He was in the home of poor people, but they
were obviously people who made a highly satisfactory best of their
poverty. And in the midst of it all the girl shone like the one evening
star in the mystic opalescence of twilight.

"We weren't sure you were coming," said she. "I'll call father. . . .
No, I'll take you back to his workshop. He's easier to get acquainted
with there."

"Won't you play something for me first? Or--perhaps you sing?"

"A very little," she admitted. "Not worth hearing."

"I'm sure I'd like it. I want to get used to my surroundings before I
tackle the--the biology."

Without either hesitation or shyness, she seated herself at the piano.
"I'll sing the song I've just learned." And she began. Norman moved to
the chair that gave him a view of her in profile. For the next five
minutes he was witness to one of those rare, altogether charming visions
that linger in the memory in freshness and fragrance until memory itself
fades away. She sat very straight at the piano, and the position brought
out all the long lines of her figure--the long, round white neck and
throat, the long back and bosom, the long arms and legs--a series of
lovely curves. It has been scientifically demonstrated that pale blue is