"He plays for an hour after dinner sometimes, when he is not too tired?"
"And your musical mornings? Have there been no more of those—no more concertante duets?"
"Allan, I told you that there should be no more such duets for me."
"You might have changed your mind."
"Not after having promised. I considered that a promise."
"Conscientious soul! And you think me a jealous brute, no doubt?"
"I don't think you a brute."
"But a jealous idiot. My dearest, I don't think I am altogether wrong. A wife—or a betrothed wife—should have no absorbing interest outside her husband's or her sweetheart's life; and music is an absorbing interest, a chain of potent strength between two minds. When I heard those impassioned strains on the fiddle, and your tender imitations on the piano, question and answer, question and answer, for ever repeating themselves, and breathing only love——"
"Oh, Allan, what an ignoramus you are! Do you suppose musical people ever think of anything but the music they are playing?"
"They may not think, but they must feel. They can't help being borne along on that strong current."