"It would be a good deal in the way, Mrs. Stanley. Let us hope it will stay where it belongs," he answered gravely.
"How ungrateful you artists are! But I shall always be so glad and proud to think that your first song in New York was in my house."
"But it wasn't."
Her face fell.
"I thought—Wasn't that your first recital? I am sure you said—"
His smile went no further than his lips, for his clear gray eyes appeared to be taking her mental and spiritual measure, with some little disappointment at the result.
"It was my first recital, Mrs. Stanley; but not my first song. I sang German folk songs to Arlt's landlady, half the afternoon before. You remember Mr. Arlt, I think."
She glanced around with a carelessness which ignored the hand that the boy shyly extended towards her.
"Oh, yes, very pleased," she said vaguely. Then, with a resumption of her former manner, she turned back to Thayer. "And I thought you promised to drop in for a cup of tea, some Thursday, Mr. Thayer."
Beatrix was deaf to his answer. She had turned to Arlt who, scarlet with hurt and anger, stood alone in his corner by the piano.