"No, it does not jar on me, because you have no bad tricks. You sing simply and naturally, with wonderful sweetness and power. Sing now, and afterward I will take the liberty of asking you some questions about yourself."
Marion went to the piano, and, animated by the last words, sang as well as she could possibly have sung for a much larger audience. In the lofty, wide room she let out the full power of her splendid voice with an ease, a total absence of effort, which delighted her listener. Lying back in his deep chair while song followed song, and marking how clear and true every note rang, his interest in the singer grew; and he began to rouse a little from the state of indifferent egoism which was normal with him, to consider what would be the future of this girl, whom nature had so richly endowed. Perhaps curiosity had a part in the interest; at least when Marion had sung for some time, he said suddenly:—
"That is enough for the present. I must not be unreasonable, and I must not let you strain your voice. Will you come now and talk to me for a while?"
"Willingly," she answered, rising from the instrument with a smile. "But you must remember that it does not follow that because I can entertain you by singing I can also entertain you by talking."
"I think it will follow," he said. "You talk, if not as well as you sing—for that would be very extraordinary—at least well enough to make me desire to listen to you. And in order to make you appreciate that, I must tell you that the talking of most people bores me intolerably."
"Are there any signs by which one can tell when one begins to bore you?" asked Marion, sitting down on a low chair in front of him. "Because I should like to cease as soon as that point is reached."
He smiled, all the lines of his face relaxing as he looked at her. In fact, he found the charm of her beauty almost as great as that of her voice. Had it been an unintellectual beauty, he would have cared nothing for it; but the flash of that indescribable quality which the French call esprit, the quickness and readiness of her speech, the grace of her manner,—all pleased and interested the man, who was not easily pleased or interested.
"I do not believe there is any danger of your ever reaching that point," he said. "And I think you are sure of it yourself. You have no fear of boring any one; for you know the thing is impossible."
"You are very kind," she answered. "But I have never observed that the people who bore one are at all afraid of doing it. So, lack of fear would not prove exemption from the possibility. But I flatter myself that I have penetration enough to detect the first sign, and I am certain that I would not need to detect the second."
"Any one who saw you would be certain of that," he said, regarding her intently. "As it chances, however, it may be I who will prove the bore; for I am going to claim one of the privileges of an old man, and ask you some questions about yourself; or, to spare me the trouble of asking the question, I should like for you to tell me something about your life, if you have no objection."