"Too bad! I was going to ask you to stir up the ivories."

"Nobody likes good music any more," growled the critic, seating
himself upon the bench. His sensitive fingers idly rippled the
length of the keyboard and a flood of melody filled the room.

"Say! You do know your way around, don't you? Can't you pick out
'Here Comes My Daddy Now' with one finger?"

The musician groaned. "What a pity!" After a moment he murmured,
"I improvise a good deal." The instrument, perhaps for the first
time in its life, began to vibrate and ring to something besides
the claptrap music of the day. Once he had found a means of
occupying himself, Pope surrendered to his impulse and in a
measure forgot his surroundings.

A short time later Lorelei turned from the kitchenette to find
Adoree Demorest poised, a salad-bowl in one hand, a wooden spoon
gripped in the other, on her face a rapt expression of beatitude.

"Have you rubbed the dish with garlic?" inquired Lorelei.

Adoree roused herself slowly. "Lordy!" she whispered. "I'd give
both legs to the knee and one eye if I could play like that. The
mean little shrimp!"

The embers of her resentment were still glowing when the four
finally seated themselves at the table. A furtive glance in Pope's
direction showed that he was studiously avoiding her eyes: she
prepared once more to begin the process of flaying him.