I wished the two figures to "compose" together with intensity, and my little Italian had entered perfectly into my conception.

The pair were vividly before me, the piano had been pulled out; it was a charming show of blended youth and murmured love, which I had only to catch and keep.

My visitors stood and looked at it, and I was friendly to them over my shoulder.
They made no response, but I was used to silent company and went on with my work, only a little disconcerted--even though exhilarated by the sense that this was at least the ideal thing--at not having got rid of them after all.

Presently I heard Mrs.Monarch's sweet voice beside or rather above me: "I wish her hair were a little better done." I looked up and she was staring with a strange fixedness at Miss Churm, whose back was turned to her.

"Do you mind my just touching it ?" she went on--a question which made me spring up for an instant as with the instinctive fear that she might do the young lady a harm.