I thought you were going to say 'a little.' Every singing young lady I ever met, when asked that question, invariably replied 'a little.'" "I leave my friends to say that for me," said Ruth.
"Perhaps you yourself sing a _little_ ?" asked Dare, wishing Charles would leave Ruth's ball of wool alone.
"No," said Charles; "I have no tricks." And he rose and went off to the newspaper-table.

Dare's songs were all very well, but really his voice was nothing so very wonderful, and he was not much of an acquisition in other ways.
Then Dare took his opportunity.

He dropped into Charles's vacant chair; he wound wool; he wished to learn to knit; his inquiring mind craved for information respecting shooting-stockings.

He talked of music; of songs--Italian, French, and English; of American nigger melodies.

Would Miss Deyncourt sing?
Might he accompany her?
Ah! she preferred the simple old English ballads.