"He did not think that a sacrifice, Suzie, for he adores you."
"You really think so—that he cares as much as that?"
"I am very sure that he loves with his whole heart and mind, as his father—may have done before him."
"Oh, his father would have been in earnest, I have no doubt, in any affection; but I doubt if he was ever tremendously in love with Lady Emily. She is all that is sweet and dear in her frank homely way, but not a person to inspire a grande passion. Allan's father must have loved and lost in his early youth. There is a shade of melancholy in his voice and manner—nothing gloomy or dismal—but just that touch of seriousness which tells of deep thoughts. He is a most interesting man. I wish you could have seen him while he was at Beechhurst. I fear he will never leave Fendyke again."
Mrs. Wornock sighed and sat silent, while Suzette went to the piano and played a short fugue by their favourite Sebastian Bach—played with tender touch, lengthening out every slow passage in her pensive reverie.
There had been no more concertante duets. Geoffrey had entreated her to go on with their mutual study of De Beriot and the older composers, Corelli, Tartini, and the rest; but she had obstinately refused.
"The music is difficult and tiring," she said.
This was her first excuse.
"We will play simpler music—the lightest we can find. There are plenty of easy duets."
"Please don't think me capricious if I confess that I don't care about playing with the violin. It takes too much out of one. I am too anxious."