Is that you, Mr. Orme? Will I come
and sing? Oh, yes, if you wish it. Where is the little dog?" she asked,
looking up at him with a new expression in her languorous eyes, as she
glided beside him.
"Asleep on my bed," replied Stafford, with a laugh. "My man has turned
him off and made him a luxurious couch with cushions three or four
times, but he would persist on getting on again, so he'll have to stay,
I suppose?"
"Are you always so good-natured?" she asked, in a low voice. "Or do you
reserve all your tenderness of heart for dogs and horses--as Mr. Howard
declares?"
"Mr. Howard is too often an ass," remarked Stafford, with a smile.
"You shall choose your song, as a reward for your exertions this
afternoon," she said, as he led her to the piano.
Most of the men in the crowd waiting eagerly for the exquisite voice
would have been moved to the heart's core by her tone and the
expression in her usually cold eyes, but Stafford was clothed in the
armour of his great love, and only inclined his head.
"Thanks: anything you like," he said, with the proper amount of
gratitude.
She shot a glance at him and sank into the music-seat languidly.
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