“Well,” he began, “I suppose I ought to congratulate you——”
She gave him an extraordinary glance of mingled triumph and defiance.
“You ought,” she said, “but you’re not going to, are you?”
He smiled grimly. “On the contrary,” he replied, “I will compliment you so far as to say that your playing was extraordinarily good.”
Like an impulsive child she seized hold of his coat sleeve.
“Say it again!” she cried ecstatically. “Oh, do say it again! That’s the biggest compliment you’ve ever paid me, and I do love being praised! Say it again!” She was looking up into his face with delirium in her eyes. Also she was trembling, and her hot fingers tightened over his wrist.
“Don’t get excited,” he replied reprovingly. “And don’t imagine you’re famous all at once. You didn’t play the Mozart very brilliantly.”
She laughed hysterically.
“I don’t care what you say about that! You’re trying to unsay that compliment and you can’t! I don’t care whether you say it again or not—you’ve said it once. And I shall remember!”
“You shouldn’t live for compliments.”