"It was a slip of the tongue.

Neither Conrad Lagrange nor I know anything about our neighbor." She laughed ironically.

"And you _could_ know so easily." "I suppose so; but we have never cared to.

We prefer to accept the music as it comes to us--impersonally--for what it is--not for whoever makes it." He spoke coldly, as though the subject was distasteful to him, under the circumstances of the moment.
But the woman persisted.

"Well, _I_ know who it is.