"It was rather a slow affair that school concert, was it not?" he said, in his full, deep tones, with the fine drawl he affected.
"Oh yes—at least I do not know that I found it so," Juliet corrected herself; "but then I knew beforehand what it would be like. One cannot expect anything very startling at a school concert, when only the pupils perform. Of course it must have seemed a dull affair to you."
"Oh no; I liked it very much. I do not mean to say that I enjoyed the music particularly, but I liked being there. I was disappointed, though, to find that you were not amongst the performers. I had hoped to hear you play or sing."
"Flossie could have told you that was impossible. I do not learn music at school. I do not learn at all now, in fact."
"Do you really mean it? And yet I am sure you are musical."
Juliet shook her head. "I am afraid not. I am very fond of music, but I cannot play much. Salome used to teach me, but she gave me up in despair; and, indeed, I could never learn of her. We used to quarrel at every lesson."
"I don't wonder, if she taught you," said Flossie.
"Mother wanted me to have lessons of someone else, but Hannah said that would be an extravagance, when Salome is so well qualified to teach me. She gives lessons in music, you know, and is said to have an admirable method of training young strummers. I know her playing is quite correct, and all that, but can never feel that there is any music in it, somehow."
"I know the kind of playing you mean," said Algernon; "this is it, is it not?" He turned quickly to the piano, sat down and played a little air of Beethoven's; played it correctly, coldly, the time strictly accented, but without the least expression.
"That's it—that's it exactly!" exclaimed Juliet, delighted. "Salome always plays in that hard, woodeny manner."