"You play very well," said Harry to Miss Kennedy, when the conjuring was over and the professor returned to his chair and his nightly occupation with a pencil, a piece of paper, and a book.
"Can you play?"
"I fiddle a little. If you will allow me, we will try some evening a duet together."
"I did not know——" she began, but checked herself. "I did not expect to find a violinist here."
"A good many people of my class play," said Harry, mendaciously, because the English workman is the least musical of men.
"Few of mine," she returned, rising, and closing the piano, "have the chance of learning. But I have had opportunities."
She looked at her watch, and remarked that it was nearly ten o'clock, and that she was going to bed.
"I have spoken to Mr. Bunker about what you want, Miss Kennedy," said the landlady. "He will be here to-morrow morning about ten on his rounds."
"Who is Mr. Bunker?" asked Angela.