Lily was more beautiful than usual, the heat and the pleasure of seeing her admirer having flushed her cheeks. He was penetrated with her sweetness, and the hand laid on his arm thrilled him. Where should he take her? Unfortunately the staircase was in stone; servants were busy in the drawing-room.
"How beautifully Mr. Escott plays the violin!"
The melodious strain reeked through the doorways, filling the passage.
"That is Stradella's 'Chanson d'Église.' He always plays it; I'm sick of it."
"Yes, but I'm not. Do not let us go far, I should like to listen."
"I thought you would have preferred to talk with me."
Her manner did not encourage him to repeat his words, and he waited, uncertain what he should say or do. When the piece was over, he said—
"We had to turn my bedroom into a retiring-room. I'm afraid we shall not be alone."
"That does not matter; my mother does not approve of young girls sitting out dances."
"But your mother isn't here."