Miss Haldane made an inarticulate sound in her throat. This assuredly surpassed everything. She had been right, quite right, when she had considered he might be a socialist.
“It must of course,” said Anne courteously, “be exactly as you wish.”
Peter bowed, and the next moment moved away, walking down the avenue of beeches. Anne looked after his retreating figure thoughtfully, wonderingly.
“Impudence!” gasped Miss Haldane. She felt that her goddess, her divinity, had been insulted.
“No, Matty dear,” said Anne, “the man is an artist.”
“An artist!” said Miss Haldane. She was unwilling to allow that the music had appealed to her.
“Yes,” replied Anne, musing, “an artist! Heaven knows how many faults of construction [Pg 112]there may not have been in his theme. Possibly had I been educated in the technical knowledge of music I should have found it positively bristling with them. I am glad I know nothing of the technique of music. I could listen and appreciate. Don’t you understand, Matty dear, how wonderful it was! The man’s a genius!”
“Well!” ejaculated Miss Haldane. She got up and moved towards the French window. Before entering she turned suddenly.
“My dear,” she exclaimed, “you never paid him!”
“I know,” said Lady Anne quietly.