“He’s composing,” said Clara, softly.
“Yes, he would be,” said Hard, unsympathetically. “They always do work it off that way, don’t they?”
“Work what off?” demanded Clara, instantly.
“Anything that happens to them,” said Hard, cheerfully. “You artistic fellows are queer, you know, Clara. Don’t try to wriggle out of it.”
“I shan’t,” replied Clara, promptly. “But let me warn you, my lad, you haven’t made me want to give up my music yet. I’m still going back to have a try at it.”
“Bully for you! Of course you are. And I’m going with you, either to help you do it, or to make you fall in love with me so deeply that you’ll want to give it up.”
Clara laughed softly and laid her hand on his arm. “Henry, if you can do that, I’ll be the happiest woman in the world. Please try!”