"Do you know, Mr. Thayer, it is a very wonderful experience, this having a species of court musician?"
He laughed the silent laugh she liked so well. It came from between close-shut teeth; but it lighted his whole face.
"As wonderful as it is to have a good listener who always understands and rarely praises?" he asked.
Under her thin, middle-aged skin, the flush rose to her cheeks, turning them to the dainty likeness of youth.
"You say very pleasant things."
"True ones. If this keeps on, I shall begin using you as critic for all my new songs."
"Like the fabled dog? I wish you would. But, truly, I am not joking. You are quite spoiling me for my usual diet of recitals. Do you realize that, for the past two months, you have sung to me on an average of two hours a week?"
Thayer smiled contentedly down at her, as he sat by the piano, with one muscular arm thrown across the rack.
"Well, what of it?" he inquired.
"Nothing, except that people say you are refusing engagements."