“I hope so. I—do you think it strange that I should live there all alone?” I asked, tormented with a desire to know what he did think of me, and crassly ready to burst into explanations on the least provocation. I was destined to be undeceived.
“I have not thought about it at all; it is not my business.”
Snub number one. He had spoken quickly, as if to clear himself as much as possible from any semblance of interest to me.
I went on, rashly plunging into further intricacies of conversation:
“It is curious that you and I should not only live near to each other, but actually have the same profession at last.”
“How?”
Snub number two. But I persevered.
“Music. Your profession is music, and mine will be.”
“I do not see the resemblance. There is little point of likeness between a young lady who is in training for a prima-donna and an obscure musiker, who contributes his share of shakes and runs to the symphony.”