he appealed.

“It is quite true,” Paula smiled, “if for no other reason that he is kind enough not to drown me quite.”

“And nothing remains but to prove our words,” he volunteered. “There’s a duet we sang the other evening — ” He glanced at Paula for a sign. “ — Which is particularly good for my kind of singing.” Again he gave her a passing glance and received no cue to her will or wish. “The music is in the living room. I’ll go and get it.”

“It’s the ‘Gypsy Trail,’ a bright, catchy thing,” he heard her saying to the others as he passed out.

They did not sing it so recklessly as on that first