“You will have it?” he cried delightedly. “Now for a triumphal march!”
Whilst he played, with look corresponding to the exultant strain, Monica rose from her chair. She stood with eyes downcast and lips pressed together. When the last chord had sounded,—
“Now I must say good-bye, Mr. Bevis. I am so sorry your sisters haven’t come.”
“So am I—and yet I am not. I have enjoyed the happiest half-hour of my life.”
“Will you give me the piece of music?”
“Let me roll it up. There; it won’t be very awkward to carry. But of course I shall see you again before the end of July? You will come some other afternoon?”
“If Miss Bevis will let me know when she is quite sure—”
“Yes, she shall. Do you know, I don’t think I shall say a word about what has happened this afternoon. Will you allow me to keep silence about your call, Mrs. Widdowson? They would be so annoyed—and really it was a silly thing not to tell them—”
Monica gave no verbal reply. She looked towards the door. Bevis stepped forward, and held it open.
“Good-bye, then. You know what I told you about my tendency to low spirits. I’m going to have a terrible turn—down, down, down!”