"Was it a very melodious voice, Roderic."
"The sweetest—well, yes, a voice full of melody," he replied, with evident confusion that did not escape Cleo's quick gaze.
"Ah! you have heard her sing?"
"Dozens of times—like a nightingale," he felt forced to confess.
"This was—where?"
"In San Juan, Porto Rico, two years back. I have not looked on her face since I fled those shores."
"Ah!" and that one word expressed keen disappointment, for Cleo read the story of his lost love in his face.