When she returned with her songs, Jean took out a cigarette and looked through them with critical eyes.
“Bah!” he exclaimed. “Haven’t you anything better than these?”
Margot had, after all, some spirit; she did not like Jean’s tone of contempt, and she thought he should have asked her leave to smoke. She was far more particular about such things than Liane.
“Music is not very cheap, Monsieur,” she said, a little sharply. Jean shrugged his shoulders.
“Good music is, however, cheaper than bad,” he said indifferently.
“Not unless you are paid to sing it,” replied Margot, with admirable common sense. Common sense is a quality all women who desire to please should learn to avoid, or at least conceal; they may use it in their private judgments, but it should never be allowed to appear in their conversation. It annoyed Jean extremely.
“Allons!” he said; “commencez donc!” And he pushed all the music on to the floor and began to play scales.
Margot was disappointed, she did not wish to sing scales; her mind returned to the eggs. Did he, she wondered, like them lightly cooked?
“Mademoiselle,” said Jean turning round on the music-stool. “What are you doing with these notes?”
Margot blushed guiltily.