He hummed the air, and she followed it hesitatingly, feeling out the accompaniment. Mrs. Morrell knew her instrument and had a quick ear. Occasionally Keith leaned over her shoulder to strike for her an elusive chord or modulation. In so doing he had to press close, and for all his honest absorption in the matter at hand, could not help becoming aware of her subtle perfume, the shine of her flesh, and the brightness of her crown of hair. "You play it," she said suddenly. But he disclaimed the ability. "I don't know it any better than you do, and you improvise wonderfully." They became entirely absorbed in this most fascinating of tasks, the working out little by little of a complicated accompaniment. "There!" she cried gayly at last. "I believe I have it. Let's try." Keith had a strong smooth baritone, not too well trained, but free from glaring faults and mannerisms. It filled the little drawing-room ringingly. He liked the song, and he sang it with fire and a certain defiance that suited it. At its conclusion Mrs. Morrell sprang to her feet, breathing quickly, her usual hard, quick artificiality of manner quite melted. "It's wonderful!" she cried. "It lifts one right up! It makes me feel I'd run away----" She checked herself abruptly, and turned to where Nan sat in an armchair outside the circle of light, "Don't you just _adore_ it?" she asked in a more restrained manner, and turned back to Keith, who was standing a little flushed and excited by the song, "You have just the voice for it--with that vibrating deep quality." She reseated herself at the piano and struck several loud chords. Under cover of them she added, half under her breath, as though to herself, but distinctly audible to the man at her shoulder; "Luck for us all that you are already taken." Keith would have been no more than human if he had not followed this cue with a look. She did not lower her eyes, but gave him back his gaze directly. It was as though some secret understanding sprang up between them, though Keith,--in half-angry confusion, could not have analyzed it. After this they compared notes until they found several songs they both knew. Mrs. Morrell brushed aside Keith's suggestion that she herself should sing, but she did it in a way that left the implication that he was the important one vocally. "No, no! I've been starved too long. I'm as tired of my little reed of a voice as of the tinkle of a musical box." The close of the evening was brought about only by the return of Morrell from his engagement. Keith had utterly forgotten his fatigue, and was tingling with the enthusiasm to which his nature always rose under stimulus. The Englishman, very self-contained, clean-cut, incisive, brought a new atmosphere. He was cordial and polite, but not expansive. Keith came down from the clouds. He remembered, with compunction, Nan sitting in the armchair, the lateness of the hour, his own fatigue.