So with a smothered sigh he placed before her several pieces, and while she played he stood silently by her side, turning the leaves of her music, and gazing into the beautiful, soulful face, proud and glad in the privilege he enjoyed of being so near her.
When she had played several instrumental pieces brilliantly, he placed another song before her.
"Let me hear if you can sing as well as you can play," he pleaded.
She glanced at the song. It was Longfellow's "Bridge."
"Yes, I will sing it," she said; and again there fell a hush of silence as the sweet and well-trained voice filled the room with its melody. De Vere was fain to acknowledge that she sung as well as she played.
When she had sung the last line she looked up into his face.
"Will you play or sing something now while I rest?" she asked.
"I never knew how unfortunate I was before in having no talent for music," he said, ruefully. "I should like to oblige you so much, but I have no more voice than a raven, Miss West. I will call Lancaster. He can sing like a seraph."
"Oh, pray don't!" she cried; but he had already turned around.