After dinner they returned to the drawing-room, which ran from the front to the back of the house. Marian opened a large window which gave access to the garden, and sat down with Elinor on a little terrace outside. Conolly went to the organ.
“May I play a voluntary while you talk?” he asked. “I shall not scandalize any one: the neighbors think all music sacred when it is played on the organ.”
“We have a nice view of the sunset from here,” said Marian, in a low voice, turning her forehead to the cool evening breeze.
“Stuff!” said Elinor. “We didnt come here to talk about the sunset, and what a pretty house you have, and so forth. I want to know—good heavens! what a thundering sound that organ makes!”
“Please dont say anything about it to him: he likes it,” said Marian. “When he wishes to exalt himself, he goes to it and makes it roar until the whole house shakes. Whenever he feels an emotional impulse, he vents it at the organ or the piano, or by singing. When he stops, he is satisfied; his mind is cleared; and he is in a good-humored, playful frame of mind, such as I can gratify.”
“But you were always very fond of music. Dont you ever play together, as we used to do; or sing to one another’s accompaniments?”
“I cannot. I hardly ever touch the piano when he is in the house.”
“Why? Are you afraid of preventing him from having his turn?”
“No: it is not so much that. But—it sounds very silly—if I attempt to play or sing in his presence, I become so frightfully nervous that I hardly know what I am doing. I know he does not like my singing.”
“Are you sure that is not merely your fancy? It sounds very like it.”