"Let me hear your voice," he asked, abruptly.
Dorothy was gratified by this request. She had taken for granted the tenor's interest in her appearance, but that this should extend to her voice seemed to indicate something more profound than a casual attraction. She assured him that she was too shy, but he continued to persuade her, and at last she sang a part of one of the leading lady's songs.
"Yes, it would be worth while taking some trouble with it," he judged. "If you like I'll give you lessons. Have you got a piano in your rooms?"
"We have got a piano this week, as it happens," said Dorothy, "though I should doubt if it had ever been played on. Come to tea this afternoon, and we'll try it."
"You live with that Haden girl, don't you?"
"Do you think she's pretty?" Dorothy asked.
The tenor shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh yes, so-so. I really haven't noticed her much. She dyes her hair, I suppose."
"No, it's natural," said Dorothy, resisting the temptation to insert a qualifying, "I believe."
They discussed the varieties of feminine beauty; when the tenor had managed to convey without direct compliments that Dorothy had every feature a woman ought to have, she was convinced by his good taste that her voice must be out of the ordinary.