Soon they were discussing all kinds of substitutions.
“Mother, what an extraordinary lot you know about noise,” Michael exclaimed.
“Dearest boy, I’m on the committee of a society for the abatement of London street noises.”
“So deeply occupied with reform,” he said, patting her hand.
“One must do something,” she smiled.
“I know,” he asserted. “And therefore you’ll let me ride this new hobby-horse I’m trying without thinking it bucks. Will you?”
“You know perfectly well that you will anyhow,” said Mrs. Fane, shaking her head.
Michael felt justified in letting the conversation end at this admission. Maurice Avery had invited him to come round to the studio in order to assist at Castleton’s induction, and Michael walked along the Embankment to 422 Grosvenor Road.
The large attic which ran all the width of the Georgian house was in a state of utter confusion, in the midst of which Castleton was hard at work hammering, while Maurice climbed over chairs in eager advice, and at the Bechstein Grand a tall dark young man was playing melodies from Tchaikovsky’s symphonies.
“Just trying to make this place a bit comfortable,” said Castleton. “Do you know Cunningham?” He indicated the player, and Michael bowed.