Cassy turned from him. Her fingers, prompted by a note, had gone from it into Gounod.
"Will you marry me?"
"Certainly not."
It was as though he had asked her to go skating. To mark the absurdity of it her voice mounted.
"Le printemps chasse les hivers——"
The words are imbecile but the air, which is charming, seemed to occupy her wholly.
"Et sourit dans les arbres verts——"
"I know you don't care for me but couldn't you try?"
"Eh?" Cassy stayed her fingers, reached for a score on the top of the upright. "I thought you wanted me to sing."
"I want to know whether you can't ever care for me."