"As cold as ice, by Jove," was Howard's mental comment; "yet she did not appear particularly elated over her prospective triumph. Strange!"
He crossed over to the piano where Lora was restlessly turning over some sheets of music.
"Won't you sing to me, Miss Carroll?" he asked, in a soft, alluring voice.
Lora sat down on the music-stool and laughed as she ran her white fingers over the pearl keys.
"Excuse me—I do not sing," she said, carelessly. "But I will play your accompaniment if you will select a song."
"You do not sing," he said, as he began to turn over the music. "Ah! there is one point at least in which you do not resemble your sister. Mrs. St. John has a very fine voice."
"Yes. Xenie's voice has been well trained," she answered, carelessly; "but I do not care to sing, I would rather hear others."
"How will this please you?" he inquired, selecting a song and laying it up before her.
She glanced at it and answered composedly: