"Nonsense!" He leaned across the table, and laid his hand on hers. "You belong wherever things are most beautiful, my dear. As for environment, you can make it what you choose," he said. "Don't you realize that? Whatever you choose, Jacqueline."
"Can I?" Her eyes met his in a long gaze. The languor of the music was still in them, but he saw another expression growing there, a grave and womanly sweetness. "I wonder—" The hand under his turned so that the warm fingers clasped his.
At that moment the discreet servant entered with a small bottle wrapped in a napkin. Channing withdrew his hand abruptly.
"Of course you can!" he smiled and lifted a glass shaped like a lily, filled with sparkling gold. "To your future career!" he said, and drank.
She echoed the toast, "To my future career."
Perhaps the career she had in mind was not entirely an operatic one, however.
Very shortly afterwards, he took her home. She went rather reluctantly, glancing in at the music-room with a wistful sigh. But he was adamant. He had no idea of arousing maternal watchfulness.
"I wish we had time for a little more music," she said.
"We shall have a great deal more music before we are done with each other, little girl," he assured her.
She answered naïvely, "But it will never be quite like this again. The next time I come, Mr. Farwell will probably be here."