"My man has turned him off and made him a luxurious couch with cushions three or four times, but he would persist on getting on again, so he'll have to stay, I suppose ?" "Are you always so good-natured ?" she asked, in a low voice.

"Or do you reserve all your tenderness of heart for dogs and horses--as Mr.Howard declares ?" "Mr.Howard is too often an ass," remarked Stafford, with a smile.
"You shall choose your song, as a reward for your exertions this afternoon," she said, as he led her to the piano.
Most of the men in the crowd waiting eagerly for the exquisite voice would have been moved to the heart's core by her tone and the expression in her usually cold eyes, but Stafford was clothed in the armour of his great love, and only inclined his head.
"Thanks: anything you like," he said, with the proper amount of gratitude.
She shot a glance at him and sank into the music-seat languidly.

But a moment afterwards, as if she could not help herself, she was singing a Tuscan love-song with a subdued passion which thrilled even the _blase_ audience clustered round her.

It thrilled Stafford; but only with the desire to be near Ida.

A desire that became irresistible; and when she had finished he left the room, caught up his hat and overcoat and went out of the house.
As he did so, Mr.Falconer walked past him into the smoking-room.