“Let us contrive some way,—think of something.”
“It is too late now; he is about to leave the room,” said Kate, cautiously. “How pale he looks, and how anxious his eye has become! I thought at first there was some constraint at meeting me here; he feared, perhaps—but no, that would be unworthy of him.”
She ceased, for Nelligan had now drawn nigh to where they sat, and stood as if trying to collect himself to say something.
“Do you sing, Mr. Nelligan?” asked Kate.
“No; I am ignorant of music,” said he, half abstractedly.
“But you like it?” asked Mary.
“Yes, I believe I do,—that is, it calms and quiets me. If I could understand it, it would do more.”
“Then why not understand it, since that is the way you phrase it?” asked Kate. “Everybody can be a musician to a certain degree of proficiency. There is no more ear required than you want to learn a language.”
“Then you shall teach me,” cried Mary, eagerly.
Kate took up her hand and pressed it to her lips for a reply.