“Oh, something light and lively—a popular air.”
The shade of a frown flickered at his brows. “What I know is rather ancient; but it shall be as you command, Milady Caprice.”
He struck up a bit from an old comic opera. Josephine Stone sank to a seat. There she lost sense of the bizarre nature of this scene. This man was no mean amateur airing a mechanical talent. He executed no flourishes; his form scarcely swayed as the bow rode the responding strings like a thing possessed of life.
The girl sat enraptured till he had concluded two rollicking melodies.
“Oh, you wonderful man!” It came from her spontaneously as she clapped her little hands in sheer delight. “Where did you learn to play so exquisitely?”
“An old man who once lived here taught me the rudiments. The rest I picked up.”
“But it must have taken years of practice.”
“It has been my one genuine diversion. I often come here when the mood seizes me and play for a solid evening—but never before to a living audience.”
He was replacing bow and instrument in the case. “Oh, don’t do that,” she entreated. “Just one more selection anyway, please.”
Without show of diffidence he prepared to comply. “More light stuff?” he asked.