“Lizzie!”
The premonition of momentous things grew stronger. Underneath it, in lower layers of consciousness, submerged habits of politeness made themselves felt. I ought to get Roger into the conversation.
“I sang better than I ever did before. And Vignorol, who used to scold and be so discouraged, told me I’d got it!”
“Lizzie!”
For a moment we stared at each other, speechless, she giving the useful pair of ears time to carry to the brain, the great news.
Then the subconscious promptings grew too strong to be denied and I said:
“Mr. Clements will be as glad as we are to know that.”
Thus encouraged, Roger emerged from his astonishment. He was not as debonair as at the beginning, also he evidently wasn’t sure just what it was all about, but he seized upon the most prominent fact, and said, without enthusiasm, rather with apprehension:
“This doesn’t mean, Miss Harris, that you’re thinking of returning to your old profession?”
Her look at him was flaming, as silencing as a blow. I don’t know why she didn’t tell him to hold his tongue, except that she was too preoccupied to waste a word. He flinched before it, drew himself up and backed away, dazed, as he might have been if she really had struck him.