"What shall it be?" she demanded, still with the undercurrent of eagerness.
"You choose--a man's song--something soulful. I'm just in the mood."

"Do you know the 'Bedouin Love Song?'" he inquired.

"The 'Bedouin Love Song?' No--I'm afraid not. We are so far out of the
world."

"It's a new thing. It goes like this."

He hummed the air, and she followed it hesitatingly, feeling out the
accompaniment. Mrs. Morrell knew her instrument and had a quick ear.
Occasionally Keith leaned over her shoulder to strike for her an elusive
chord or modulation. In so doing he had to press close, and for all his
honest absorption in the matter at hand, could not help becoming aware of
her subtle perfume, the shine of her flesh, and the brightness of her crown
of hair.

"You play it," she said suddenly.

But he disclaimed the ability.

"I don't know it any better than you do, and you improvise wonderfully."

They became entirely absorbed in this most fascinating of tasks, the
working out little by little of a complicated accompaniment.

"There!" she cried gayly at last. "I believe I have it. Let's try."