“There’s mother,” said Herbert.
“Mother has no ear for music.”
Mrs. Heywood was annoyed at this remark. It seemed to her unjust.
“How can you say so, Clare? You know I love Mozart.”
“I haven’t played Mozart for years,” said Clare, laughing a little. “You are thinking of Mendelssohn.”
“Well, it’s all the same,” said Mrs. Heywood.
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Clare very wearily. She drooped her head and shut her eyes until suddenly she seemed to smell something.
“Is there anything burning?”
“Burning?” said Herbert nervously.
“There is a queer smell in the flat,” said Clare.