She played a noisy instrumental piece, to which James Cromwell listened in silence, with very little idea of what was being played. His eyes were fixed rather on the young lady herself.
"How do you like it, Mr. Cromwell?"
"Very much, indeed," said Cromwell, hitching his chair a little nearer the instrument, and then coloring, lest the movement should have been observed.
"I think I will sing you something," said Clara. "I don't sing in public, but before an intimate friend I do not feel so bashful."
The words "intimate friend," slipped out so easily and naturally that she seemed unconscious of them, but they were intentional, and she glanced out of the corners of her eyes to watch their effect. She saw that Cromwell's eyes brightened, and the color came to his pale cheeks, and then she knew that they had produced the effect which she intended.
"She is certainly very charming," thought Cromwell, "and she is very friendly. I don't think I ever met a young lady so attractive."
"He's getting in love," said Clara to herself. "It'll be fun to see him when he gets quite carried away by the tender passion. I've heard of eloquent eyes, but I don't think his are capable of looking like anything except those of a ferret. Well, I'll see the play through."
She accordingly sang the well-known song, "Then I'll Remember Thee," putting into it as much meaning as possible, and occasionally glancing in a languishing manner at the young man, who sat uneasily in his chair, and began to feel all the symptoms of love. He sat as if spell-bound when she had finished.
"Why don't you compliment me, Mr. Cromwell?" she said, turning round, with a smile. "Do you know you are wanting in your duty, sir? Every young lady expects to be complimented, when she has done a young gentleman the favor to sing to him."