"Yez may be a willin' liar, but yer work is coorse," Mrs. Foley informed him. "Well, I do not set up f'r to be wan iv thim divas. I can raise th' keen fine over a corpse, but me singin' is privut an' so intended. So I forgive ye, young man, more be token I can see it's herself thinks it's a joke on the old gyurl. For shame, Miss Faith! An' me that's crooned ye in yer cradle many's the long night!"
But there was a twinkle in Mrs. Foley's blue eyes, and Angus began to suspect that her bark was much worse than her bite.
"Mary was my nurse," Faith told him when they were seated in the living room. "She really thinks the world of me, spoils me—and bullies me. But what do you think of my humble home? You haven't seen it since it was finished."
Angus approved the room and its furnishings. There was space to move, and a fireplace. The chairs were comfortable and strong; there was a spacious couch, a well-filled bookcase, a piano and a banjo case.
"I like it," he said. "It's not cluttered up with a lot of junk. Everything looks as if it could be used. That's what I like. Is that a banjo and do you play it?"
"Yes, I play it."
"I like a banjo better than a piano."
"You Philistine! Why?"
"Perhaps because I'm a Philistine. I don't know just why. All I know is that I do like it better. A piano is sort of machine-made music to me; but with a banjo the player seems to be making the music himself, as if he was singing."
"You mean there is more personal expression."