Frank talking about “technique!” Frank sitting there, quite unable to conceal his satisfaction in this flattering attention! The girl glanced at him sidelong, dropped her eyes, and bent her head.
“What would you like, Mr. Hol-land?” she asked, timidly.
“Oh—er—anything—anything,” he replied. “Er—what about something operatic? Wagner, eh?”
“Oh, how can he be so idiotic?” thought Madeline. “She’s laughing at him!”
As the girl began to play again, Mrs. Holland went out of the room. It was Rubinstein’s “Melody in F,” but Frank wouldn’t know the difference. He would recognize it as something familiar and “classical,” and would be impressed; but the girl would know. She was laughing at Frank!
For the first time in many years Mrs. Holland felt a desire to bang doors. It would be a positive satisfaction to slam the drawing-room door, and then to go upstairs and slam her own door and lock it. She had done that once, long, long ago. Frank had come running up after her, and had stood outside in the hall, angry himself, but very miserable, and secretly frightened by her obstinate silence. They had “made it up” soon enough in a silly, beautiful, generous young way, each of them insisting on taking all the blame; but of course she wasn’t a foolish, headstrong young thing like that any more. If Frank liked to make himself ridiculous, he was quite at liberty to do so.
At the foot of the stairs she paused, and decided that before going to her room she would see the cook. For the last two mornings the oatmeal had been much too thin, and a tactful remonstrance was needed. She turned back. As she did so, the music stopped, and she could hear their voices in the drawing-room. She could not help hearing.
“Oh, Mr. Hol-land! You look so tired!”
“Well—”
“I’m so sorry for you! It must be awfully sad for you, your daughter getting married, and all![Pg 416]”