Later, when the children had gone upstairs, she went into the dimly lighted sitting-room and sat down at the piano, touching softly and lightly the notes of a minor melody, an erratic little air rising and falling in a succession of harmonies.
“Pen!”
She turned exquisite eyes to Kurt’s ardent gaze.
“I like you in this dress. I didn’t know dress could so alter a person.” There was the tone of unrepressed admiration in his voice.
“Hebby is right,” she thought with a fleeting smile. “He said there was something very effective about black to men—especially to men who know nothing about clothes.”
“I must ask you something,” he continued, speaking in troubled tone. “This man Hebler—does he know—”
She stopped playing.
“He knows me as you know me, as the thief, and he knows—something else about me.”
Her fingers again found their way to the keys.
Reluctantly he found himself succumbing to the witchery of her plaintive tone and her quivering lips. Then he rallied and said relentlessly.