I hope you won't stop.' 'I was only passing the time.' 'You will make me think I intrude.' 'I'll prove to you that you don't,' and she went back to the piano.

Drake seated himself at the side of it, facing her and facing the open window.
The window-ledges were ablaze with flowers, and the scent of them poured into the room on a flood of sunshine.
Clarice was moved by a sudden whim to a change of humour.

She sprang from her dejection to the extreme of good spirits.

Her singing proved it, for she chose a couple of light-hearted French ballads, and sang them with a dainty humour which matched the daintiness of the words and music.

Her shrugs and pouts, the pretty arching of her eyebrows, the whimsical note of mockery in her voice, represented her to Drake under a new aspect, helped to complete her in his thoughts much as her voice, very sweet and clear for all its small compass, completed in some queer way the flowers and sunshine.