Suddenly she abandoned the company to its own devices, and leaning her left
elbow on the table, she turned squarely to Keith, enveloping him with a
magnetic all-for-you look.

"Do you know," she said abruptly, "something tells me you are musical."

"Why, I am, a little," admitted Keith, surprised. "But how could you tell?"

"La, now, I was sure you had a voice the first time I heard you speak. I
adore music, and I can always tell."

"Do you sing, too?" asked Keith.

"I? No, unfortunately. I have no more voice than a crow. I strum a bit, but
even that has been a good deal neglected lately. There's no temptation to
keep up one's music here. I don't know a single soul in all this city who
cares a snap of their finger for it."

"We'll have to have some music together," suggested Keith.

"I'd adore it. Isn't it lucky we're neighbours? I've been so interested"--
she said it as though she had almost intended to say "amused"--"in watching
you this past week. You are the most domestic man I know. I never saw a man
work so singlemindedly at his house and home. Domesticity is a rare outworn
virtue here, I assure you. It is really quite touching to see a man so
devoted these days."

She said these things idly, a little disjointedly, looking at him steadily
all the while. Her manner was detached, and yet somehow it impelled him