“No one shall see those scraps, Mr Linnell,” she said quietly; and the look of affectionate pride in him seemed to intensify. “It is quite right that a young gentleman like you should have some one to love him, but not in such a way as that.”
“No,” he replied shortly, and the colour came into his cheeks again, making them tingle, so that he stamped his foot and snatched up the violin strings again to go on with his selection. “There, I shall have these four,” he said, forcing a smile, “and if they don’t turn out well I shall patronise your rival, Miss Clode.”
“My rival!” exclaimed the little woman, turning pale. “Oh, I understand. Yes, of course, Mr Linnell. Those four. Let me put them in paper.”
“No, no. I’ll slip them in this little case,” he said, and he laid four shillings on the counter.
“I’d really much rather you did not pay for them,” she protested, and very earnestly too.
“Then I won’t have them,” he said; and, with a sigh, Miss Clode placed the money in her drawer.
“I hope you were not one of the party who serenaded a certain lady on that terrible night of horrors, Mr Linnell,” she said, smiling; and then, noticing quickly the start he gave, “Why, fie! I did not think you thought of such things.”
“Yes; don’t talk about it, I beg,” he exclaimed. “It was by accident. I did not know I was going there.”
“But surely, Mr Linnell, you don’t think—Oh!”
She stood gazing at him with her lips apart.