“I should break any engagement whatsoever if I had one,” Mr. Corliss was saying with what the eavesdropper considered an offensively “foreign” accent and an equally unjustifiable gallantry; “but of course I haven’t: I am so utterly a stranger here. Your mother is immensely hospitable to wish you to ask me, and I’ll be only too glad to stay. Perhaps after dinner you’ll be very, very kind and play again? Of course you know how remarkable such——”
“Oh, just improvising,” Cora tossed off, carelessly, with a deprecatory ripple of laughter. “It’s purely with the mood, you see. I can’t make myself do things. No; I fancy I shall not play again today.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Shan’t I fasten that in your buttonhole for you,” said Cora.
“You see how patiently I’ve been awaiting the offer!”
There was another little silence; and the listener was able to construct a picture (possibly in part from an active memory) of Cora’s delicate hands uplifted to the gentleman’s lapel and Cora’s eyes for a moment likewise uplifted.
“Yes, one has moods,” she said, dreamily. “I am all moods. I think you are too, Mr. Corliss. You look moody. Aren’t you?”
A horrible grin might have been seen to disfigure the shadow in the corner just within the doorway.