“But who told you we had telegraphed for rooms?”
“The manager is a good friend of mine, and as you are now famous——” Ah! I have heard all about the German tour. I mean I have read about it. I subscribe to the German musical papers. One must, in my profession. Also I have had direct news from my correspondents in Germany. It was a triumph there, was it not?”
“Yes,” said Audrey. “After Dusseldorf. My husband did not make much money——”
“That will not trouble you,” Mr. Shinner smiled easily.
“But somebody did—the agents did.”
“Perhaps not so much as you think, madam, if I may say so. Perhaps not so much as you think. And we must all live—unfortunately. Has your husband made any arrangements yet for London or for a provincial tour? I have reason to think that the season will be particularly brilliant. And I can now offer advantages——”
“But, Mr. Shinner, when I last saw you, and it isn’t so very long ago, you told me that my husband was not a concert-player, which was exactly what I had heard in Paris.”
“I didn’t go quite so far as that, surely, did I?” Mr. Shinner softly insinuated. He might have been pouring honey from his mouth. “Surely I didn’t say quite that? And perhaps I had been too much influenced by Paris.”
“Yes, you said he wasn’t a concert-player and never would be——”
“Don’t rub it in, madam,” said Mr. Shinner merrily. ”Peccavi.”