The eye-glass focussed the great, smiling girl.
"Can she sing?"
"She has a voice."
"But have you never let her hear yours?"
"Once. I had not been here long enough to know better. And I made my usual mistake."
"I thought I had the station to myself."
The questioner bowed to his rebuke. "Well?" he persisted none the less.
"I was told exactly what my voice was like, and fit for."
The gentleman turned on his heel, as though her appreciation of the humor of her position were an annoyance to him. His movement brought him face to face with a photographic galaxy of ladies in varying styles of evening dress, with an equal variety in coiffures, but a certain family likeness running through the series.