"Thank you," said David from his heart. He was thanking them for more than the music.
Mrs. Radbourne stirred, yawning daintily. "Are you stopping so soon? My dear, you sang very prettily. Jonathan, you surpassed yourself. Particularly in the Largo. I remember Ole Bull, in 'sixty-seven. . . ."
When that anecdote was concluded, the guests rose to leave. Because it
was very late, Mrs. Radbourne prevailed upon Esther to stay overnight.
David would not be persuaded. So they gathered around him at the door.
And, having shaken hands, he said again:
"Thank you. And I should like to say—"
A sudden awkward lump jumped into his throat. He began anew, "I should like to say—"
But what he would like to say would not be said. "Good night," he forced out abruptly and hurried into the night.
Jonathan Radbourne stood before the cold fireplace, tugging with both hands at his whiskers.
"Miss Summers," he said, "that young man grows nicer all the time."
"Yes," she said.
"I wish I could make things brighter for him."