Both were preoccupied.
Suddenly through the open window there rippled in the fairy notes of a mandolin, and almost at once a voice of most alluring sweetness began to sing: "O, wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom, To share it a', to share it a'." "Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a paradise, If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen." As the song died out into the August night, Nick rose.

"That girl's a siren," he said.

"Come along! We're wasting our time in here." Max stooped laconically to knock the ashes from his pipe.

His face as he stood up again was quite expressionless.

"You lead the way," he said.
"Are you going to leave your cigar behind?
I suppose cigarettes are allowed ?" "I should think so, as the lady smokes them herself." Nick opened the door with the words, but paused a moment looking back at his companion quizzically.