Mrs. Morrell shrugged her fine shoulders indifferently.
"This old rag!" she said. "Don't let that bother you. I always like to put on something cool for the evening. It's such a relief."
It developed that Morrell had an engagement, and could not stay.
"He was so disappointed," purred Mrs. Morrell.
She was all eager for the music, brushing aside this and other preliminaries.
"You play, sing?" she asked Nan. "What a pity! I'm afraid you're going to be terribly bored."
She turned instantly to Keith, hurrying him to the piano, giving the impression of being too eager to wait—almost the eagerness of a drunkard in the presence of drink. And this in turn conveyed a vibrating feeling of magnetism, of temperament under restraint, of possibilities veiled. The impact struck Keith's responsive nature full. He waked up, approached the piano with reviving interest. She struck idle chords and flashed at him over her shoulder a brilliant smile.
"What shall it be?" she demanded, still with the undercurrent of eagerness. "You choose—a man's song—something soulful. I'm just in the mood."
"Do you know the 'Bedouin Love Song?'" he inquired.
"The 'Bedouin Love Song?' No—I'm afraid not. We are so far out of the world."