“Much,” he said tritely.
She was conscious of neither wonder nor resistance, as if the music had cast a spell over her self-mastery.
“I want to hear you play,” she said, with an echo of entreaty.
He shook his head, brushing a lock of hair off of his temple as he did so. There was a sort of impatience in each movement.
“Not these days; no! I played once after I saw you first, but only once. Since that the case is locked; the key is here.” He interrupted himself to draw out his keys, and separating one from the rest held it up to her. “Let us hope that in Munich, perhaps.”
The waitress had returned with their ices. He watched her arrange them, and she watched him. The heavy circle under his eyes was especially noticeable this night, the eyes themselves especially laughless.
“You are glad that I go?” he asked suddenly as he picked up his spoon and plunged it into the saucer before him; “yes?”
“I shall be more glad when I know that you are really gone.”
“But this time it is sure. This time it is really a true going.” He stopped and broke a piece of cake into tiny morsels, pushing them together into a neat little pile. “Why were you unhappy in your husband?” he asked slowly.
“He drank,” she replied.