"What do I owe you?" Nancy asked him. "I can't keep count of the lessons. You seem to be always coming."
"Never mind! never mind!" said Markowski, waving excited, unwashed hands. And as he had heard about their financial position from George and Peggy, he added, "You will pay me ... when she plays you the Bach Chaconne!"
"Very well," said Nancy, who thought that that meant in a week or two. "Just as you please, Herr Markowski."
And then she thought he must be insane, because he was bent with laughter as he packed away his violin.
Fräulein Müller made accounts in a little black book all one day and half one night, and in the morning she went to Lexington Avenue to see Nancy.
"I can give you eighty dollars. Will that pay your journey to England to see the firm of publishers?"
Oh yes, Nancy thought so. And how good of her! And how could Nancy ever thank her?
"Of course, those people will be glad to advance you something at once, even if the manuscript is not quite ready," said Fräulein, who was romantic besides being practical.
"I suppose so," said Nancy.
"See that you have a proper contract. You had better ask a barrister to make it for you." And Nancy promised that she would.