Then, still smiling and looking toward the window, he says, and, as he says it, his eyes—­at which he knows his companion is looking—­wander over the room,

“A very pretty cage!”

The eyes drop upon hers as they finish the circuit of the room.  They say no more than the lips have said.  And Miss Grace Plumer answers,

“I thought you were going to say a very noisy bird.”

“But the bird is not very noisy,” says the young man, his dark eyes still holding hers.

There is a moment of silence, during which Miss Plumer may have her fancy of what he means.  If so, she does not choose to betray it.  If her eyes are clear and shrewd, the woman’s wit is not less so.  It is with an air of the utmost simplicity that she replies,

“It was certainly noisy enough to drown what I was saying.”

There is a sound upon her other side as if a musical bell rang.

“Miss Plumer!”

Her head turns.  This time Mr. Sligo Moultrie sees the massive dark braids of her hair behind.  The ripe mouth half smiles upon Prince Abel.

He holds a porcelain plate with a peach upon it, and a silver fruit-knife in his hand.  She smiles, as if the music had melted into a look.  Then she hears it again: 

“Here is the sunniest side of the sunniest peach for Miss Plumer.”

Sligo Moultrie can not help hearing, for the tone is not low.  But, while he is expecting to catch the reply, Miss Magot, who sits beyond him, speaks to him.  The Prince Abel, who sees many things, sees this; and, in a tone which is very low, Miss Plumer hears, and nobody else in the room hears: 

“May life always be that side of a sweet fruit to her!”

It is the tone and not the words which are eloquent.

The next instant Sligo Moultrie, who has answered Miss Magot’s question, hears Miss Plumer say: 

“Thank you, with all my heart.”

It seems to him a warm acknowledgment for a piece of fruit.

“I did not speak of the bird; I spoke of the cage,” are the words that Miss Plumer next hears, and from the other side.

She turns to Sligo Moultrie and says, with eyes that expect a reply,

“Yes, you are right; it is a very pretty cage.”

“Even a cage may be a home, I suppose.”

“Ask the canary.”

“And so turned to the basest uses,” says Mr. Moultrie, as if thinking aloud.

He is roused by a little ringing laugh: 

“A pleasant idea of home you suggest, Mr. Moultrie.”

He smiles also.

“I do not wonder you laugh at me; but I mean sense, for all that,” he says.

“You usually do,” she says, sincerely, and eyes and solitaires glitter together.

Sligo Moultrie is happy—­for one moment.  The next he hears the musical bell of that other voice again.  Miss Plumer turns in the very middle of a word which she has begun to address to him.