The Prince Abel, who sees many things, sees this; and, in a tone which is very low, Miss Plumer hears, and nobody else in the room hears: "May life always be that side of a sweet fruit to her!" It is the tone and not the words which are eloquent.
The next instant Sligo Moultrie, who has answered Miss Magot's question, hears Miss Plumer say: "Thank you, with all my heart." It seems to him a warm acknowledgment for a piece of fruit.
"I did not speak of the bird; I spoke of the cage," are the words that Miss Plumer next hears, and from the other side.
She turns to Sligo Moultrie and says, with eyes that expect a reply, "Yes, you are right; it is a very pretty cage." "Even a cage may be a home, I suppose." "Ask the canary." "And so turned to the basest uses," says Mr.Moultrie, as if thinking aloud.
He is roused by a little ringing laugh: "A pleasant idea of home you suggest, Mr.Moultrie." He smiles also.
"I do not wonder you laugh at me; but I mean sense, for all that," he says.
"You usually do," she says, sincerely, and eyes and solitaires glitter together.
Sligo Moultrie is happy--for one moment.

The next he hears the musical bell of that other voice again.

Miss Plumer turns in the very middle of a word which she has begun to address to him.
"Miss Grace ?" "Well, Mr.Newt." "You observe the engraving of the Madonna ?" "Yes." "You see the two cherubs below looking up ?" "Yes." "You see the serene sweetness of their faces ?" "Yes." "Do you know what it is ?" Grace Plumer looks as if curiously speculating.

Sligo Moultrie can not help hearing every word, although he pares a peach and offers it to Miss Magot.
"Miss Grace, do you remember what I said once of honest admiration--that if it were eloquent it would be irresistible ?" Grace Plumer bows an assent.
"But that its mere consciousness--a sort of silent eloquence--is pure happiness to him who feels it ?" She thinks she remembers that too, although the Prince apparently forgets that he never said it to her before.
"Well, Miss Plumer, it seems to me the serene sweetness of that picture is the expression of the perfect happiness of entire admiration--that is to say, of love; whoever loves is like those cherubs--perfectly happy." He looks attentively at the picture, as if he had forgotten his own existence in the happiness of the cherubs.

Grace Plumer glances at him for a few moments with a peculiar expression.