"Not too much like a rose, sometimes," she said. "I think this
morning I'm a little like some of the old doors up on the third
floor: I feel rather unhinged, Mr. Corliss."

"You don't look it, Miss Madison!"

"I didn't sleep very well." She bestowed upon him a glance which
transmuted her actual explanation into, "I couldn't sleep for
thinking of you." It was perfectly definite; but the acute
gentleman laughed genially.

"Go on with you!" he said.

Her eyes sparkled, and she joined laughter with him. "But it's
true: you did keep me awake. Besides, I had a serenade."

"Serenade? I had an idea they didn't do that any more over here. I
remember the young men going about at night with an orchestra
sometimes when I was a boy, but I supposed----"

"Oh, it wasn't much like that," she interrupted, carelessly. "I
don't think that sort of thing has been done for years and years.
It wasn't an orchestra--just a man singing under my window."

"With a guitar?"

"No." She laughed a little. "Just singing."

"But it rained last night," said Corliss, puzzled.