He looked at her steadfastly. He could not be sure whether it was his fancy, or whether indeed there was some hidden meaning in her question.
“Since I came to live in England,” he answered.
“Ah!”
There was a moment’s silence. Then with a little wave of her hands and a brilliant smile, she figuratively dismissed the subject.
“We waste time,” she remarked lightly, “and we may have callers at any moment. I will ask you no more questions save those which the conventions may permit you to answer truthfully. We can’t depart from our code, can we, even for the sake of an inquisitive woman?”
“I can assure you—” he began.
“But I will have no assurances,” she interrupted smilingly. “I am going to talk of other things. I am going to ask you a ridiculous question. Are you fond of music?—seriously!”
“I believe so,” he answered. “Why?”
“Because,” she answered, “I sometimes wonder what there is in the world that interests you! Certainly, none of the ordinary things seem to. Tonight, almost for the first time, I saw you look a little drawn out of yourself. I was wondering whether it was the music or the people. I suppose, until one gets used to it,” she added, looking a little wearily around the house, “an audience like this is worth looking at.”
“It certainly is not the people,” he said. “Do you make as close a study of all your acquaintances?”