“You think she would make a concert player?” she asked, briefly.
“She undoubtedly could, if she would. But her temperament is peculiar.”
Claudine smiled.
“Her temperament is more or less familiar to me,” she said.
“Oh, I wasn’t presuming to inform her mother!” he hastened to say. “It was simply that I thought my interpretation—as a musician—might be of interest. I don’t hesitate to say that she is one of the most promising pupils I have ever had the pleasure of teaching.”
“Then do you think she has a fine future before her?” asked Claudine. She would bring him to the point; he should be made to declare himself so that she could demolish him.
“If she chooses. But I’m not sure that she has the temperament for a public artist. She is too rebellious—”
“Then what do you think she is suited for?” asked Claudine, boldly. But she never had Mr. MacGregor’s reply, for Andrée had suddenly stopped playing and got up.
“Mother!” she said, “Do you mind if Edna and I pop over to the drugstore? We want some things—”
Mr. MacGregor had risen, prepared with a gallant offer to accompany them, but before he could say a word, she had gone, her arm about her smaller sister. And with the cessation of the music, Gilbert intended to be heard. Mr. MacGregor was rather interested in the stock market, in a prudent way, and Gilbert had information to give, and prophecies.