"Not in the least; nothing of mine is involved."
"We'll gain it for your portion yet, Miss Margaret," said Mr. Van Horn, nodding to Mr. Uxbridge, and bidding William drive on. He returned the next day, and we settled into the routine of hotel life. A few mornings after, she sent me to a matinee, which was given by some of the Opera people, who were in Newport strengthening the larynx with applications of brine. When the concert was half over, and the audience were making the usual hum and stir, I saw Mr. Uxbridge against a pillar, with his hands incased in pearl-colored gloves, and holding a shiny hat. He turned half away when he caught my eye, and then darted toward me.
"You have not been much more interested in the music than you are in the lawsuit," he said, seating himself beside me.
"The tutoyer of the Italian voice is agreeable, however."
"It makes one dreamy."
"A child."
"Yes, a child; not a man nor a woman."
"I teach music. I can not dream over 'one, two, three.'"
"You—a music teacher!"
"For six years."