Elsie tried hard to keep a sober face, but Herbert’s good-nature was irresistible, and the corners of her mouth relaxed in a smile as she looked up and asked: “What occult wisdom taught you she didn’t mean them?”
“The science of physiognomy, if there is such a science. A face that is all sunshine for others cannot surely mean to keep all its thunder-clouds for an inoffensive young man like me.”
“Some people attract lightning,” exclaimed Elsie mischievously.
“By reason of superior magnetism, it is to be presumed. Thanks!”
At this juncture Lizzette came up with the violin case in her hand. “Herbeart, zis ees ze reminder de mon petit Antoine. Let me hear ze fiddle speak again.”
“Willingly, if Miss Elsie will accompany me.”
Elsie looked up, mutinous still; but meeting Herbert’s eyes, defiance gave its last gasp as she said under her breath: “You are an arch conspirator. I suppose there is nothing left for me but submissiveness.”
Herbert’s blonde head bent low over the pile of music he was ostensibly examining as he whispered: “You shall see how generously I can conspire. Trust me to be magnanimous.”
Elsie’s nimble tongue was silent, and a sudden wave of intoxication seemed to sway her back and forth in a rarefied atmosphere where breathing was impossible. When at last she dared to glance again at Herbert, he was tuning his violin with such a look of beatific contentment on his face that pent-up feeling, on the perilous edge of a tear, seized the other alternative and burst into laughter. With instinctive quickness she dashed into a noisy jig on the organ, and by the time she dared to glance apprehensively around, Herbert had selected the piece of music and was striking its key-note on the violin. Elsie played very badly that night, and Herbert was several times obliged to point out little mistakes and make corrections with all the gravity of a professional music master. But the tumult in her veins rose higher and higher, and with a sudden crash on the keys the music came to a stop. Glancing down at the perturbed face, Herbert turned to the others:
“My violin is evidently not Antoine’s and Miss Elsie looks tired. Have you examined the new books, Miss Murchison? There is one on sociology, by Sir Lyon Playfair, I thought might interest you. And there is Henderson’s ‘History of Music,’ the ‘Journal of Marie Bashkirtseff,’ ‘The Three Germanies,’ and two or three newly-issued volumes of poetry by Meredith, Lover, and others. I thought before I dipped into them I should like your opinion.”