He looked down at her for a moment as if he would refuse; then very gently he laid his hand on her head, pressing back the heavy, clustering hair from her forehead to look into her soft eyes.
"What do you want me to play?" he said.
She made a wide gesture of the hands and let them fall. "Something big," she said. "Something to take to bed with us and give us happy dreams."
His lips—those mobile, sensitive lips—curved in a smile that made Avery avert her eyes with a sudden hot pang. He released Jeanie, and turned away to the door.
"I'll see what I can do," he said. "You had better go into the garden—you and Avery."
They went, though Jeanie looked as if she would have preferred to accompany him to the music-room. It was little cooler on the terrace than in the house. The heat brooded over all, dense, black, threatening.
"I hope it will rain soon," said Jeanie, drawing her chair close to Avery's.
"There will be a storm when it does," Avery said.
"I like storms, don't you?" said Jeanie.
Avery shook her head. "No, dear."