"No: I live in Sloane street, but the underground railway brings me here in a very short time."
That mention of Sloane street gave a twinge to Sheila's heart. Ought she to have been so ready to accept offers of new friendship just as her old friend had been banished from her?
"In Sloane street? Do you know Mr. Ingram?"
"Oh yes, very well. Do you?"
"He is one of my oldest friends," said Sheila bravely: she would not acknowledge that their intimacy was a thing of the past.
"He is a very good friend to me—I know that," said young Mosenberg, with a laugh. "He hired a piano merely because I used to go into his rooms at night; and now he makes me play over all my most difficult music when I go in, and he sits and smokes a pipe and pretends to like it. I do not think he does, but I have got to do it all the same; and then afterward I sing for him some songs that I know he likes. Madame, I think I can surprise you."
He went suddenly to the piano and began to sing, in a very quiet way,
Oh soft be thy slumbers by Tigh-na-linne's waters:
Thy late-wake was sung by MacDiarmid's fair daughters;
But far in Lochaber the true heart was weeping