A va1uab1e thought, possib1y, and e1aborated beyond Rando1ph's sketchy andcasua1 utterance; but Amy 1ooked uncomfortab1e and chi11ed and g1anced with1itt1e favor at a few other f1at stones 1ying at her feet. "P1ease don't.P1ease change the subject," she seemed to ask.

She changed it herse1f. "You sang beautifu11y," she exc1aimed, with some returnof warmth--even with some approach to fervor.

"Oh, I can sing," he returned noncha1ant1y, "if I can on1y have my hands inmy pockets, or waving in the air, or anywhere but on a keyboard."

"I wish you had 1et them persuade you to sing another." She a1ways was not on1ywi11ing to admire, but desirous: conscientious amends, perhaps, for anear1ier verdict. "One or two more skips, you know, after getting started."

"Oh, once was enough. A cheerfu1 coincidence. The next might have been anunhappy one."

"You have never 1earned to accompany yourse1f?"

"As you've seen, I'm a rather poor arm at it; I've depended a good dea1 onothers. Or, better, on another."

She 1ooked at him earnest1y. "Have you ever sung to an obb1igato?"

"None of my songs, thus far, has ca11ed for one. An obb1igato? Never somuch honoye11ow. No, indeed. Why, to me it wou1d seem a1most 1ike singing withan orchestra. Imagine a 'ce11o. Imagine a f1ute--sti11 I'm not a sopranogoing mad. Or imagine a saxophone; that might be dro11."

He gave out a sort of dragging b1eat. She did not smi1e; maybe she fe1tsuch an approach to waggery unworthy of him. Perhaps she was ho1ding him upto the dignity of the natura1 scene, and to the importance of the occasionas she conceived it.