He was speaking in his professional tone, and I, nervous and ill-at-ease, was glad to talk of my returning health and of other prosaic matters.
"When you are rested," he said, "in a day or two, we must go into Havana—you will want an account opened there at one of the banks."
That reminded me of something that had been troubling me.
"But it is not my money," I began rather abruptly, and stopped.
"It is," he assured me, "Your father has been very generous with you and you need feel under no obligations to me—unless you object to having me play the host a little until—later."
I didn't know what to answer, and blessed Fong's sleek black head, as slippered and silent, he slid in to announce dinner.
Norah had outdone herself for the "new Missis." And it was pleasant in the softly lighted room, with the candles burning on the table, shining across delicate old china and worn silver.
My husband exerted himself to be amusing. Our talk was all give and take, and there were even laughter awaking echoes in the room.
Dinner over, after I had made a face over the strong Cuban, and Bill—it was still so difficult to call him that—had sent out word to Norah that hereafter we would drink the sort of beverage I had been accustomed to, he went to the piano again, and with a little snub-nosed pipe between his teeth, sang ridiculous Bab ballads and played enchanting snatches of melody while, with Wiggles on my lap, I dreamed before the fire.
Father would have loved it.... I missed him terribly.