"Never!"
He did not reply to this. Instead he broke into the opening chords, the sweetly solemn, majestic harmony of the 'Largo'. He played it entirely from memory, very slowly, very softly at first, until the measured notes, swelling into volume, filled the room in a loud arpeggio.
"That is beautiful," she exclaimed with enthusiasm, "I should have said 'exquisite'. May I learn it?"
"Surely there must be a copy in the city. I shall consider it a favor to procure one for you."
"I should be delighted, I am sure."
He played it again. She regarded him from above. It was astonishing to note the perfect ease and grace with which he performed. The erect carriage, the fine cut of the head, the delicately carved features became the objects of her attention in their inverse order, and the richly endowed talents, with which he was so signally accomplished, furnished objects of special consideration to her reflective soul. He was exceedingly fascinating and a dangerous object to pit against the heart of any woman. Still Marjorie was shrewd enough to peer beneath his superficial qualities, allowing herself to become absorbed in a penetrating study of the man, his character, his peculiarities;—so absorbed, in fact, that the door behind her opened and closed without attracting her attention.
"I must obtain that copy," she announced as she turned towards her chair.
"Why, Father!" she exclaimed. "When did you come? Mr. Anderson, Father. You already know him."
"Well met, my boy. You are somewhat of a musician. I was listening."