“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he explained, as he came near her. “What is that?”
She told him the name of the selection.
“It’s quite difficult, Mauney. Not very entertaining, either. I fear it will be some time before I venture to exhibit it.” She looked up with a serious, accusing glance. “You took a very unfair advantage of me, didn’t you?”
“How, Lorna?” he asked in surprise.
Then he realized what she meant. Queer frankness! Queer bashfulness! Did she ever think anything without saying it? Did she ever withhold a criticism?
“Why, no,” he said, “I—I didn’t mean to be—rude, you know. Aren’t you a strange girl?”
“What will I play for you?” she asked, turning through some sheets of music. “Do you like this?”
She held up Nevin’s “Day in Venice.”
“Um—h’m,” he nodded. “That’s wonderful!” He had never heard it in his life. He was looking into her blue eyes above the sheet of music. “Don’t you think so, Lorna?”
“What are you staring at?”