After that, she watched him with increasing interest and, when he turned
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.
She started eagerly forward toward the easel. But the artist, with a quick
motion, drew a curtain across the canvas, to hide his work; while he
checked her with--"Not yet, please.
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