He always calls her "Madge," you know.) "How do you do ?" Then she gave her quick little look around to see if there wasn't somebody else near for her to talk to.

But there wasn't.
"But you _do_ dream, of the old days, sometimes, Madge, don't you ?" he began again, soft and low, leaning a little nearer.
"Of when I was a child and played dolls before this very fireplace?
Well, yes, perhaps I do," laughed Mother.

And I could see she drew away a little.

"There was one doll with a broken head that--" "_I_ was speaking of broken hearts," interrupted Mr.Harlow, very meaningfully.
"Broken hearts! Nonsense! As if there were such things in the world!" cried Mother, with a little toss to her head, looking around again with a quick little glance for some one else to talk to.
But still there wasn't anybody there.
They were all over to the other side of the room talking, and paying no attention to Mother and Mr.Harlow, only the violinist.

He looked and looked, and acted nervous with his watch-chain.