“How very delightful. But what can she be waiting for, dear? She is a widow, and her son, you tell me, is quite a boy. No doubt she will bring him into the Church too, later on. By all means, Francie, ask her to come over on Friday, or whichever afternoon suits her best.”
Frances wrote the invitation gladly.
She was curiously devoid of insight, and it did not occur to her that any two people of whom she was fond could fail to like and admire one another.
“Isn’t Mrs. Severing the ‘Nina Severing’ who composes?” asked Ludovic, as he drove Frances to fetch her friend.
“Yes. Her music is my favourite modern music. Don’t you like the ‘Kismet’ songs?”
“I once heard her play,” said Ludovic, avoiding, clumsily, as he felt, a reply. “Her execution was very brilliant.”
“Meretricious,” was the adjective he had applied to the popular musician’s talent, at the time.
Ludovic wished that the recollection had not occurred to him so opportunely.
XI
PERHAPS it was reaction from the materialistic atmosphere that undoubtedly prevailed at the modern and opulent mansion of Cotton that was responsible for the extreme spirituality which marked Mrs. Severing’s conversation that Friday afternoon.