Three evenings later, when supper was concluded, James Cromwell made no movement to go back to the store. This was quickly observed by Clara, who said, with a smile:
"You are going to remain with us, this evening, are you not, Mr. Cromwell?"
"If it will be agreeable," he said.
"Can you doubt it?" she said, with a look which quickened the pulsations of Cromwell's heart. "I get so tired passing the evening alone. Papa gets hold of a paper or magazine, and I am left to my own devices for amusement."
She invited Cromwell to their private parlor, which was furnished with a piano.
"Do you like music, Mr. Cromwell?" she inquired.
"Very much, indeed," he answered, though the truth was he scarcely knew one tune from another.
"Perhaps you are a musician?"
"Not at all," he said, hastily, and in this statement, at least, he was correct. "Won't you play something, Miss Manton?"
"I haven't anything new, but if you don't mind old pieces, I will play for you."