Leo blushed like a girl, and his face quivered. He did not altogether approve of Reuben, but Reuben’s approval was very precious to him.
Moreover he greatly respected his cousin’s intelligent appreciation of music.
“Do you think so?” he cried. “That’s what Norwood says. But there is plenty of opportunity for cultivating music; we have Silver up there, remember. He is immensely kind.”
“You might talk it over with Silver. But think it well over and do nothing rash. There is plenty of time between now and taking your degree.”
He rose and proceeded to take off his wig and gown.
“I don’t know that my advice is worth much,” he said, “but I should say a year or two in Germany—Leipsic, Berlin, Vienna—and if by then you feel justified in setting your face against the substantial attractions of Capel Court, no doubt your governor can be brought round.”
“You will have to put it to him, Reuben. He believes in no one as he does in you.”
“Very handsome of him. But doubtless he will welcome the idea after the usher scheme.”
“You will have to paint the splendours of a musical success,” cried Leo, his spirits rising, his white teeth flashing as he smiled. “You must employ rather crude colours, and go in for obvious effects—such as the Prince of Wales, the Lord Mayor, and the Archbishop of Canterbury seated in the front row of the stalls at St. James’s Hall.”
Reuben laughed as he put on his well brushed hat before the glass.