Tom gave a contemptuous laugh.
“Of course, every one must know that she was alluding to the oratorios of Handel,” said he. “Has anything finer or more apt been said about the oratorios, Dick?”
“The phrase is very apt—indeed, it is striking,” acquiesced Dick.
This degree of praise by no means satisfied Tom. He gave an exclamation that sounded almost derisive.
“Apt—striking—almost striking!” he cried. “Cielo! have you no appreciation of perfection? I tell you that nothing finer—nothing more beautiful was ever said in the world.”
“Oh, she must have been impressed by your playing,” said Polly.
“Don’t be a goose, Polly,” said Betsy. Then she turned to her brother. “Yes, dear Tom, any one who knows anything of Handel’s methods will allow that to suggest a parallel between one of his great oratorios and a cathedral is—is—well, all that you say it is.”
“Only one who is devoted to music and who understands its mysteries could have so sublime a thought,” said Tom. “I felt it to be a great privilege to be permitted to play to such an audience this afternoon.”
“For three mortal hours,” whispered Polly.
“Three hours—immortal hours,” said Tom. “But the time was all too short.”