“Tripe and rainy days. Those are the only things, if I remember rightly, that you don't like.”
The girl stared; then she chuckled.
“There! I knew I'd like you better if you'd only SAY something,” she beamed. “But let's not talk any more about that. Play to me; won't you? You know you promised me 'The Maiden's Prayer.'”
Cyril stiffened.
“Pardon me, but you must be mistaken,” he replied coldly. “I do not play 'The Maiden's Prayer.'”
“Oh, what a shame! And I do so love it! But you play other things; I've heard you a little, and Mr. Bertram says you do—in concerts and things.”
“Does he?” murmured Cyril, with a slight lifting of his eyebrows.
“There! Now off you go again all silent and horrid!” chaffed Billy. “What have I said now? Mr. Cyril—do you know what I think? I believe you've got NERVES!” Billy's voice was so tragic that the man could but laugh.
“Perhaps I have, Miss Billy.”
“Like Miss Letty's?”