"I liked your playing," he said, "but not what you played. It had no tune."
"It was Beethoven!"
"All the same, it had no tune. I like the old songs—the ones I can follow in my mind with the words I know."
"Why, so do I," she admitted; "but, my Philistine friend, I was expected to play the other kind."
"I understand that. But I like to hear what is low grade enough for me to appreciate. I don't get much music at home."
"Tell me about your ranch. I'd like to know what you do and how you live. To begin with, beggin' yer honour's pardon in advance, is there a Mrs. Dunne?"
"No such luck," he replied. He sketched the ranch routine briefly. She was interested, asking many questions. The evening wore away. The guests began to depart. But Clyde had arranged to stay the night with the Wades.
"By the way," she said, "I still have your ten-dollar bill. I will send it to you."
"Don't do that. Keep it."
"I couldn't."