“So father says,” she answered.
“But what do you say?” queried Mr. May.
“I suppose I don’t have any say.”
“Oh but surely. Surely you won’t do it if you don’t wish to. That would never do. Can’t we hire some young fellow—?” And he turned to Mr. Houghton with a note of query.
“Alvina can play as well as anybody in Woodhouse,” said James. “We mustn’t add to our expenses. And wages in particular—”
“But surely Miss Houghton will have her wage. The labourer is worthy of his hire. Surely! Even of her hire, to put it in the feminine. And for the same wage you could get some unimportant fellow with strong wrists. I’m afraid it will tire Miss Houghton to death—”
“I don’t think so,” said James. “I don’t think so. Many of the turns she will not need to accompany—”
“Well, if it comes to that,” said Mr. May, “I can accompany some of them myself, when I’m not operating the film. I’m not an expert pianist—but I can play a little, you know—” And he trilled his fingers up and down an imaginary keyboard in front of Alvina, cocking his eye at her smiling a little archly.
“I’m sure,” he continued, “I can accompany anything except a man juggling dinner-plates—and then I’d be afraid of making him drop the plates. But songs—oh, songs! Con molto espressione!”
And again he trilled the imaginary keyboard, and smiled his rather fat cheeks at Alvina.