“You see, the sun rises just opposite my window, and shines in on my bed. That makes me get up early.”
She pushed him in the door ahead of her. They went through the hall to a long high room that had a grand piano and many old high-backed chairs, and in front of the French windows that opened on the garden, a round table of black mahogany littered with books. Two tall girls in muslin dresses stood beside the piano.
“These are my cousins.... Here he is at last. Monsieur Andrews, ma cousine Berthe et ma cousine Jeanne. Now you've got to play to us; we are bored to death with everything we know.”
“All right.... But I have a great deal to talk to you about later,” said Andrews in a low voice.
Genevieve nodded understandingly.
“Why don't you play us La Reine de Saba, Jean?”
“Oh, do play that,” twittered the cousins.
“If you don't mind, I'd rather play some Bach.”
“There's a lot of Bach in that chest in the corner,” cried Genevieve. “It's ridiculous; everything in the house is jammed with music.”
They leaned over the chest together, so that Andrews felt her hair brush against his cheek, and the smell of her hair in his nostrils. The cousins remained by the piano.