It is all about love,--and of course love is always sorrowful." "Always ?" asked Lorimer, with a half-smile.
"I do not know," she said frankly, with a pretty deprecatory gesture of her hands,--"but all books say so! It must be a great pain, and also a great happiness.

Let me think what I can sing to you now,--but perhaps you will yourself sing ?" "Not one of us have a voice, Miss Gueldmar," said Errington.

"I used to think I had, but Lorimer discouraged my efforts." "Men shouldn't sing," observed Lorimer; "if they only knew how awfully ridiculous they look, standing up in dress-coats and white ties, pouring forth inane love-ditties that nobody wants to hear, they wouldn't do it.
Only a woman looks pretty while singing." "Ah, that is very nice!" said Thelma, with a demure smile.

"Then I am agreeable to you when I sing ?" Agreeable?
This was far too tame a word--they all rose from the table and came towards her, with many assurances of their delight and admiration; but she put all their compliments aside with a little gesture that was both incredulous and peremptory.
"You must not say so many things in praise of me," she said, with a swift upward glance at Errington, where he leaned on the piano regarding her.

"It is nothing to be able to sing.