Since that first day, when she had questioned him about the unseen musician, they had not mentioned the subject, although--as was inevitable under the circumstances--their intimacy had grown.

But not once had he turned from his work in that listening attitude, or looked from the window as though half-expecting some one, without her noting it.

And, always, her eyes had flashed with resentment, which she had promptly concealed when the painter, again turning to his easel, had looked from his canvas to her face.
Scarcely was the artist well started in his work, that afternoon, when the music ceased.

Presently, Mrs.Taine broke her watchful silence, with the quite casual remark; "Your musical neighbor is still unknown to you, I suppose ?" "Yes,"-- he answered smiling, as though more to himself than at her,--"we have never tried to make her acquaintance." The woman caught him up quickly; "To make _her_ acquaintance?
Why do you say, '_her_,' if you do not know who it is ?" The artist was confused.

"Did I say, _her_ ?" he questioned, his face flushed with embarrassment.