“I wasn't thinking of it.”
“Indeed! You were 'lost in thoughts of '—”
“Of you!” he said, before he could check himself.
“Yes?” Her tone was as quietly contemptuous as she could make it. “How very frank of you! May I ask: Are you convinced that speeches of that sort are always to a lady's liking?”
“No,” he answered humbly, and hung his head. Then she threw the question at him abruptly:
“Was it you who came to sing in our garden?”
There was a long pause before a profound sigh came tremulously from the darkness, like a sad and tender confession. “Yes.”
“I thought so!” she exclaimed. “Mrs. Tanberry thought it was someone else; but I knew that it was you.”
“Yes, you are right,” he said, quietly. “It was I. It was my only way to tell you what you know now.”
“Of course!” She set it all aside with those two words and the slightest gesture of her hand. “It was a song made for another girl, I believe?” she asked lightly, and with an icy smile, inquired farther: “For the one—the one before the last, I understand?”