In her mind was no unfaithfulness to the memory of Traill. Unfaithful, even to a slender memory, it was not in her nature to be. The benefit of the Church now was the only door through which she could pass out of his life. She considered no likelihood of it; for, in common with those of her sex in whom the strong waters of emotion run deep in the vein of sentiment, she felt—being once possessed by him—that he was the lord of her life.
"But I warn you," she added, with a pathetic smile, "I shan't be good company. You'll have to do all the talking. You'll have to make all the jokes."
"I'm prepared to do as much and more," he said lightly.
"Then you must wait while I put on my hat. Play the piano—can you?"
"No—not I. Can you?"
"Yes—just a little."
"Sing?"
"Yes—sometimes."
"Ah, that settles it. We come back here after dinner, and you sing every song in your repertoire."
She laughed brightly at his enthusiasm. "You're really fond of music?" she said.