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"Then you have been happy to-day?" said Lorimer in a low and very gentle
voice.
She smiled up at him from the depths of the velvet lounge in which
Errington had placed her.
"Happy? I do not think I have ever been so happy before!" She paused,
and a bright blush crimsoned her cheeks; then, seeing the piano open,
she said suddenly "Shall I sing to you? or perhaps you are all tired,
and would rather rest?"
"Music _is_ rest," said Lorimer rather dreamily, watching her as she
rose from her seat,--a tall, supple, lithe figure,--and moved towards
the instrument. "And _your_ voice. Miss Gueldmar, would soothe the most
weary soul that ever dwelt in clay."
She glanced round at him, surprised at his sad tone.
"Ah, you are very, very tired, Mr. Lorimer, I am sure! I will sing you a
Norse cradle-song to make you go to sleep. You will not understand the
words though--will that matter?"
"Not in the least!" answered Lorimer, with a smile. "The London girls
sing in German, Italian, Spanish, and English.


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