"You are not tired, Miss Deyncourt ?" "Tired!" replied Ruth, her eyes sparkling.

"It never tires me to sing.
It rests me." "Ah! so it is with me.

That is just how I feel," said Dare.

"To sing, or to listen to the voice of--of--" "Of what?
Confound him!" wondered Charles.
"Of _another_," said Dare.

"Ah, here he is!" and he pounced on another song, and lightly touched the opening chords.
"'Oh! wert thou in the cold blast,'" sang Ruth, fresh and sweet.
"'I'd shelter thee,'" Dare assured her with manly fervor.