He slumped back into his former attitude. Again she studied him. “No, I don't understand,” she said slowly.
But the dehumanizing tone had gone from the soft voice. Cyrus began to rescue his personality from her impersonal ignoring of it. He also felt suddenly a livelier interest in life. Then, unexpectedly, she turned his flank.
“You lurk and stare at my house in the dark,” she accused.
“Which house?” he asked, startled.
“You know quite well. You shouldn't stare at strange houses. It embarrasses them.”
“Is that the miniature mansion with the little bronzes of dancing street-children in the windows?”
She nodded.
“Why shouldn't I stare? There's a secret in that house!”
“A secret? What secret?”
“The secret of happiness. Those dancing kiddies have got it. I want it. I want to know what makes'em so happy.”