"It is you who are the teacher."
She flashed up at him.
"What do you mean by that?"
"It is true--is it not?"
"If you wish me to understand that you would rather not play, have the goodness to say so plainly."
Whereupon he sat down--and played. And Madge listened.
When he stopped, she was looking away from him, toward the fire. Tears were in her eyes.
"I suppose you are a genius?"
Her voice seemed a little strained. He shook his head.
"No--the music comes out of the ends of my fingers."