"Murder, what a lovely voice!" he exclaimed involuntarily.
Doctor Prance's eye gleamed towards him a moment, and she observed, humorously (she was relaxing immensely), "Perhaps Miss Birdseye is right!" Then, as he made no rejoinder, only listening to the vocal inflexions that floated out of the house, she went on—"She's practising her speech."
"Her speech? Is she going to deliver one here?"
"No, as soon as they go back to town—at the Music Hall."
Ransom's attention was now transferred to his companion. "Is that why you call it her great effort?"
"Well, so they think it, I believe. She practises that way every night; she reads portions of it aloud to Miss Chancellor and Miss Birdseye."
"And that's the time you choose for your walk?" Ransom said, smiling.
"Well, it's the time my old lady has least need of me; she's too absorbed."
Doctor Prance dealt in facts; Ransom had already discovered that; and some of her facts were very interesting.
"The Music Hall—isn't that your great building?" he asked.