No, he was too soft. His shoulders were so weak and his hands so small and his face so pale—just like his nature. He belonged to his mother up there and to that soft pretty face over there. But he was a nice, decent fellow. And he was lots of fun, he was so different from other men. But he was sad. She loved joy and freedom. He seemed like a mean little prisoner, and he made her feel soft too. But he had always been decent toward her. Yes, he belonged to such as his mother and the pretty face. Anyhow, he knew how to play the piano.... What a different time she had had last night! Jimmy was such a big, strong, happy fellow. But even he did not quite satisfy her. Erna sighed just a little.
She regained immediate control of herself and stopped studying Carstairs. Instead, she followed the patterns in the small rug at her feet. Presently, she gave herself up to the music. It was very pretty. It sounded familiar too.
Carstairs finished playing.
“I like that,” she said instantly.
“Do you?” he demanded, wheeling toward her.
“Yes, it’s awful nice,” she complimented him.
He brightened perceptibly. “Do you really think so? Do you really like it?”
“Of course!”
He could not repress his emotion. “Do you—I—what do you think?” he asked with enthusiasm.
“What?”