It is a small detail, yet worthy of mention, that he was growing to have a contempt for certain ways of expressing himself. He went about with that dry flush on his face and hummed continually under his breath⁠—being in a state of mind when music particularly appeals. He hummed a ditty heard he knew not where⁠—in some evening company or charity concert⁠—sung by some thread of a soprano voice; it turned up now in his memory, a soft nothing, that went:

“One word from thy sweet lips

Can strangely thrill me.”

“One word from thy sweet lips Can strangely thrill me.”

He was about to go on: