“Thank you so very much,” she said, “for that charming song. Is it published?”
“Oh dear, no!” He laughed and shook his thick hair about. “It’s one of two or three that I somehow struck out when I was studying in Germany, ages ago. You play, I hope?”
Monica gave a sad negative.
“Oh, what does it matter? There are hosts of people who will always be overjoyed to play when you ask them. It would be a capital thing if only those children were allowed to learn an instrument who showed genuine talent for music.”
“In that case,” said Monica, “there certainly wouldn’t be hosts of people ready to play for me.”
“No.” His merry laugh was repeated. “You mustn’t mind when I contradict myself; it’s one of my habits. Are you here for the whole winter?”
“Only a few weeks, unfortunately.”
“And do you dread the voyage back?”
“To tell the truth, I do. I had a very unpleasant time coming.”
“As for myself, how I ever undertake the thing I really don’t know. One of these times I shall die; there’s not a shadow of doubt of that. The girls always have to carry me ashore, one holding me by the hair and one by the boots. Happily, I am so emaciated that my weight doesn’t distress them. I pick up flesh in a day or two, and then my health is stupendous—as at present. You see how marvellously fit I look.”