“Was it good?” she asked, anxiously.
“Very. I had never heard you sing before. You’re a prima donna.”
“That’s what I was going to be. You remember hearing us talking about it at the Garcias’?”
He nodded, looking down at the face where health was coming back in delicate degrees of coral to lips and cheeks.
“And it really did sound good?” she queried again.
“Lovely.”
“Quite soft and full, not harsh and with all the sound of music gone out of it?”
“Not a bit. It was fine.”
She continued to hold him around the shoulders, but her eyes dropped away from his, which regarded her with immovable earnestness, touched by a slight, tender humor. She appeared to become suddenly thoughtful.
“You can be a prima donna still,” he said.