“Oh, confound the neighbors!” said Herbert.
“I will do some knitting while you two dears play and sing,” said the old lady.
She fetched her knitting from a black silk bag on one of the little tables, and took a chair near the fireplace. Clare Heywood went to the music-stool and turned over some music listlessly. She did not seem to find anything which appealed to her.
Her husband settled himself down in an arm-chair and loaded his pipe.
“Play something bright, Clare,” he said.
“All my music sounds melancholy when I play it,” said Clare.
“What, rag-time?”
“Even rag-time. Rag-time worst of all.”
Yet she began to play softly one of Chopin’s preludes, in a dreamy way.
“Tell me when you want me to sing,” said Herbert.