Nan smiled involuntarily.
"Don't be so flowery, Maryon. Really, you and Penelope are very good antidotes to each other! She's just been giving me a lecture on the error of my ways. She doesn't waste any breath over my appearance, bless her!"
"What's the crime?"
"Lack of application, waste of opportunities, and general idleness."
"It's all true." Rooke leaned forward, his eyes lit by momentary enthusiasm. They were curious eyes—hazel brown, with a misleading softness in them that appealed to every woman he met. "It's all true," he repeated. "You could do big things, Nan. And you do nothing."
Nan laughed, half-pleased, half-vexed.
"I think you overrate my capabilities."
"I don't. There are very few pianists who have your technique, and fewer still, your soul and power of interpretation."
"Oh, yes, there are. Heaps. And they've got what I lack."
"And that is?"