But Julia, looking covertly at Longacre, whose approval alone was withheld, refused brusquely. No, she told Mrs. Fitz Hugh, the most voluble of the group around her, she would not sing again to-night. She looked laughing and triumphant, standing separated from him by the people.
He felt irritated, out of tune with everything. The evening that had promised so well was spoiled. But as he turned from the piano Julia was suddenly at his elbow, still flushed, but now her voice was weak in her murmur.
“You didn’t like it, did you?”
It was hard to meet her eyes, yet he experienced a swift pleasure, as if one in whom he had feared to be disappointed had not failed him, after all.
“It’s not as beautiful as you,” he said simply.
His sincerity startled her.
“Does it have to be that for you to stand it?” She tried to laugh it off.
“N-no-o—but,” he hesitated—“it’s because—because I could forgive you every fault but the one.”
That odd, intimate way he talked amazed her. She had never heard anything just like it. It was unconventional—oh, queer! She felt her color rising, but she stayed.
“Is it the method?” she ventured.