"They seemed designed for each other," my sister pursued, "and I introduced them, quite informally, of course. All the girls had appropriate cavaliers, and I started some music to give a spurt to the conversation."
"Music is certainly an excellent dam for discoursive shallows," I muttered in soliloquy.
"Whether the introduction pleased her or not," she continued, heedless of my remark, "I could scarcely observe. She is an equable enigma."
"A puzzle that is a wonder rather than a challenge," I agreed. "And Lorraine?"
"He, with his whole soul—and not a driblet of it as usual—beaming in his eyes faced her on the ottoman. The light from the hanging lamp treated him kindly. It threw some ripples on the silvery edge of his hair, and shrouded the cynical depths of his eyes in pensive shadow."
"If you were a younger woman, Sarah, I should say you were in love with him yourself."
"You may say what you please. He had dropped his eye-glass—his solace in boredom, as you know—and was listening, interestedly listening, while she talked."
"Perhaps you exaggerated his interest?"
"No; there is a way of listening with the eyes as well as with the ears. I could see his fixed on the lisp dimple as it dipped. Then the music began; I turned over the leaves, and struggled to applaud, flatter, question, but my brain was with them."
"Much better have left them alone," I grunted.