She looked around. “Here we are.”
XIV
They had paused at the foot of a flight of stairs. Down the narrow hall-way floated a mingled sound of voices, high and low, with drifting strains of violin-bows laid across strings and quickly withdrawn.
The old man looked at her inquiringly. “They hain’t begun?”
She shook her head. “They’re tuning up.”
His face lifted a little. “I reckoned that couldn’t be the beginnin’. But ye can’t al’ays tell. They make queer noises sometimes.”
“Yes.—I must leave you now.” She had ushered him into a small hall. “I’m going to have you sit here, quite near the platform, where I can see you.” She looked at him a little anxiously. “You don’t need to stay if you don’t like it, you know.”
“Oh, I shall like it fust-rate,” he responded. “It looks like a real comf’tabul chair to set in.”
He seated himself in it and beamed upon the room. The place she had selected for him was near the platform and facing a little toward the audience. It had occurred to her, in a last moment of indecision, that Uncle William might enjoy the audience if the music proved too classic for him. She left him with a little murmur of apology.