“Dear, dear! An essentially pagan view.”
“It’s the view of a man who knows he would lose.”
“I trust you did not tell the poor thing that!”
“Oh, but I did. I know it’s begging the question. But I say things like that on principle. Anything to break up addlepated masculine complacency. Not that it matters a toss to women, but because it’s all over everything in the world like a fungus, hiding the revelations waiting on every bush.”
“What was his response?”
“He looked very sick for a moment, and then laughed his laugh and began repeating himself. Went back to his saws about wasting youth.”
“Indeed, indeed, many are doomed to that. There at least he is right. Though most certainly not in regard to yourself. A propos, I am dining here, with the Wheelers. The child is in great trouble. The Polish ’cellist, it seems, is not after all to be in London this season. She is in despair.
“Of course, after coming across the world to see him.”
“In despair. They must now, if they can raise sufficient funds, go to Poland. It seems that there is a lady, high up in the social scale and a patroness of musicians in general, who might be willing to help, provided that the ’cellist is willing to see the child and to make an exception to his rule of not taking pupils. It is therefore imperative to communicate with him by letter. I have been wondering whether your Russian friend ...”
“Michael. Of course. I’ll ask him to-night. What is he to say?”