Unaccustomed as she was to her accompanist, his trained ear told him that she was singing perfectly at ease, and was completely at home with her player.

Occasionally she gave Michael some little indication, as she had done before, but for the most part her fingers rested immobile on his shoulder, and he seemed to understand her perfectly.

Somehow this was a surprise to him; he had not known that Michael possessed that sort of second-sight that unerringly feels and translates into the keys the singer's mood.

For himself he always had to attend most closely when he was playing for his sister, but familiar as he was with her singing, he felt that Michael divined her certainly as well as himself, and he listened to the piano more than to the voice.
"You extraordinary creature," he said when the song was over.

"Where did you learn to accompany ?" Suddenly Michael felt an access of shyness, as if he had been surprised when he thought himself private.
"Oh, I've played it before for Miss--I mean for Sylvia," he said.
Then he turned to the girl.
"Thanks, awfully," he said.