“Then,” said Musa, “you have no feeling for me.”
“Love?” she laughed exasperatingly.
“Yes,” he said.
“Not that much!” She snapped her fingers. “But"—in a changed tone—"I should like to like you. I shall be very disgusted if your concerts are not a tremendous success. And they will not be if you don’t keep control over yourself and practise properly. And it will be your fault.”
“Then, good-bye!” he said, coldly ignoring all her maternal suggestions. And turned away.
“Where are you going to?”
He stopped.
“I do not know. But if I do not deceive myself I have already informed you that in certain circumstances I should not return to the yacht.”
“You are worse than a schoolboy.”
“It is possible.”