"No. I don't suppose any one there ever thought of asking such a dingy-feathered bird to sing."
"You had some music?"
"Oh, yes! Pretty good, and very bad. Miss Clare's forehead was crossed by no end of flickering shadows as she listened."
"It wasn't for want of interest in her you forgot to find out where she lived! You had better take care, Master Roger."
"Take care of what?"
"Why, you don't know her address."
"What has that to do with taking care?"
"That you won't know where to find your heart if you should happen to want it."
"Oh! I am past that kind of thing long ago. You've made an uncle of me."
And so on, with a good deal more nonsense, but no news of Miss Clare's retreat.