“It wouldn’t bore me,” he answered. “I’m fond of music when it’s good. If she would like to strum, let her. There was a time when you used to sing to me. But I haven’t heard you sing for months, and then only when we had people here.”
Pamela remembered perfectly. The last time she had sung was the night Dare dined with them.
“You never seemed to care much,” she said.
“Not care! You didn’t think that when I used to hang over you and the piano on board ship,” he laughed.
“Well, you don’t take the trouble to hang over the piano any longer,” she replied.
He straightened himself, and moved away, frowning impatiently. Why, he wondered, did a woman always demand open demonstration of a man’s affection? As a sex they were tiresomely exacting.
“I’ll get a gramophone,” he said.
Pamela laughed.
“Some one has to hang over that. That will be my job, I suppose?”
“No. I will make myself independent of you. Miss Maitland shall work it.”