"Somewhere I've heard your voice," she said with the upsweep of her lashes. "It isn't the kind that one is likely to forget."
"Yet you have forgotten," he parried.
"I shall remember," she said. "I want to remember—and I shall want to hear it again."
He shook his head. "It was my—swan song——"
"Why?"
He shrugged. "One isn't always in the mood——"
And now it was she who shook her head. "It isn't a mood with you, it's your life."
She had him there, so he carried the conversation lightly to another topic. "I had not thought to give Whittington until I saw Pittiwitz."
"And Mary's green gown?"
Again he parried. "It was dark. I could not see the color of her gown."