Morris did not follow Zelda’s eyes; he was watching her face gravely. He had tried in many ways to please her, but she maintained an attitude toward him that was annoying, to say the least.
“There’s Mr. Balcomb over there,” Zelda remarked casually. “He sings divinely, doesn’t he? Don’t you think he sings divinely?” and she looked at Morris suddenly, with a provoking air of gravity.
“I’m sure he was a De Reszke in some former incarnation,” said Morris, savagely.
“That was just what I was thinking, only I hadn’t the words to express it,” said Zelda, with a mockery of joy at finding they were in accord.
“I’m glad, then, that we can agree about something, even when we’re both undoubtedly wrong.”
“I don’t like to think that I can be wrong,” said Zelda. “And it isn’t in the least flattering for you to suggest such a thing. I shall have to speak to my Uncle Rodney about you.”
“Any interest you may take in me will be appreciated. I had not hoped that you would—”
“Would what?” she asked, when he hesitated.
“I’ve forgotten now what we were talking about.”
“That is really most flattering! Oh, Mr. Balcomb.”