"Pretty well, dear; pretty well."
"Only pretty well," she answered reproachfully. "No one has been here to interrupt you; you have had all the afternoon for finishing that virginal, and you've only been getting on 'pretty well.' But I see your necktie has come undone."
Then overlooking him from head to foot—
"Well, you have been making a day of it."
"Oh, these are my old clothes—that is glue; don't look at me—I had an accident with the glue-pot; and that's paint. Yes; I must get some new shirts, these won't hold a button any longer."
The conversation paused a few seconds, then running her finger down the keys, she said—
"But it goes admirably."
"Yes; I've finished it now; it is an exquisite instrument. I could not leave it till it was finished."
"Then what are you complaining of, darling? Has Father Gordon been here? Has he discovered any new Belgian composer, and does he want all his music to be given at St. Joseph's?"
"No; Father Gordon hasn't been here, and as for the Belgian composers, there are none left; he has discovered them all."