“Nonsense!” laughed Billy, with pinker cheeks. “It's the music, not the musician, that pleases him. Mr. Cyril doesn't like women.”
“He doesn't like women!”
“No. But don't look so shocked, my dear. Every one who knows Mr. Cyril knows that.”
“But I don't think—I believe it,” demurred Marie, gazing straight into Billy's eyes. “I'm sure I don't believe it.”
Under the little music teacher's steady gaze Billy flushed again. The laugh she gave was an embarrassed one, but through it vibrated a pleased ring.
“Nonsense!” she exclaimed, springing to her feet and moving restlessly about the room. With the next breath she had changed the subject to one far removed from Mr. Cyril and his likes and dislikes.
Some time later Billy played, and it was then that Marie drew a long sigh.
“How beautiful it must be to play—like that,” she breathed.
“As if you, a music teacher, could not play!” laughed Billy.
“Not like that, dear. You know it is not like that.”