Then comes a rapid look into Stephen's face, and a still more rapid look back again to her business, her face having dropped its sadness, and acquired a certain expression of mischievous archness the while; which lingered there for some time, but was never developed into a positive smile of flirtation.
Stephen suddenly shifted his position from her right hand to her left, where there was just room enough for a small ottoman to stand between the piano and the corner of the room.

Into this nook he squeezed himself, and gazed wistfully up into Elfride's face.

So long and so earnestly gazed he, that her cheek deepened to a more and more crimson tint as each line was added to her song.

Concluding, and pausing motionless after the last word for a minute or two, she ventured to look at him again.

His features wore an expression of unutterable heaviness.
'You don't hear many songs, do you, Mr.Smith, to take so much notice of these of mine ?' 'Perhaps it was the means and vehicle of the song that I was noticing: I mean yourself,' he answered gently.
'Now, Mr.Smith!' 'It is perfectly true; I don't hear much singing.