"Well, your face gives you away," he said thoughtfully. "Any nerve specialist could tell you that you are made up of contradictions. You've got the most romantic eyes I ever saw—they are as deep as an autumn twilight—and the sternest mouth. Your eyes are gentle and your mouth is hard—too hard, if you don't mind my saying so."
"Oh, I don't mind. People say we make our mouths. I heard Doctor Faraday tell a woman that a few days ago. But it isn't true. Life makes us and breaks us. We don't make life. The best we can do is to bear it."
"And you do that jolly well."
She did not smile as she answered. "Oh, I'm satisfied. I'm not unhappy—except in spots," she corrected herself.
"Yet you have very little pleasure. You never go out."
"Yes, I do—sometimes. Every now and then Mrs. Faraday takes me to the theatre."
"Do you ever go to hear music?"
"No, Mrs. Faraday doesn't care for it." She laughed. "The best I've ever heard was a band in the street."
For an instant he hesitated, and she wondered what was coming. Then he said persuasively: "There's a good concert to-morrow. Would you care to come?"
She glanced at him inquiringly. "Sunday afternoon?"