"Allan, why were you angry just now?" she asked.
"Why? Perhaps I had better tell you the truth. I am miserable when I see the woman I love interested and enthralled by an art in which your son is a master—and of which I know hardly the A, B, C. I ask myself if she can care for a creature so inferior as I am—if she can fail to perceive his superiority."
"Jealous, Allan! Oh, I am so sorry. It was I who proposed that they should play duets. It was not Geoffrey's idea. I thought it would encourage Suzette to go on practising. You don't know the delight a pianist feels in accompanying a violin——"
"I think I can imagine it. Suzette takes very kindly to the concertante practice."
"She has improved so much since I first knew her. She has such a talent for music. It never occurred to me that you could object."
"It never occurred to you that I could be a jealous fool. You might just as well say that, for no doubt you think it."
"Yes, I think you are foolish to be jealous. Suzette is as true as steel; and I don't believe Geoffrey has the slightest inclination to fall in love with her."
"Not at this moment, perhaps; but who knows what tender feelings those dulcet strains may bring? However, Suzette will be leaving the neighbourhood, I hope, in a few days."
"Leaving us, you hope!"
"Yes. My mother has written to invite her to Fendyke. She is to see the White Farm, and get acquainted with all our Suffolk neighbours, who declare themselves dying to see her, while I am shooting my father's pheasants."