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“You should have used your voice professionally.”

The reply of the rector was:

“I do.”

“I didn’t mean oratorically,” she laughed, then returned nervously to her search for the next selection. She had seen that change in his smile. “It is so rare to find a perfect speaking voice coupled with a perfect singing voice,” she rattled on. “Here’s that simple little May Song. Just harmony, that’s all.”

Once more their voices rose in that perfect blending which is the most delicate of all exhilarations. In the melody itself there was an appealing sympathy, and, in that moment, these two were in as perfect accord as their voices. There is something in the music of the human tone which exerts a magnetic attraction like no other in the world; which breaks down the barriers of antagonism, which sweeps away the walls of self entrenchment, which attracts and draws, which explains and does away with explanation. This was the first hour they had spent without a clash, and the Reverend Smith Boyd, his eyes quite blue to-night, brought another stack of music from the rack.