“Why?”
“To enjoy and to give enjoyment. Merely to look at you would make the dullest set of people in London wake up and scintillate. Don’t tell me you’re not looking forward to it, because I couldn’t believe you.”
“Now that the war-paint is on I confess to feeling almost eager for the fray. How nicely you button it. You aren’t clumsy.”
“How could I be clumsy in doing something for you? Where’s your music?”
“In my head. Jennie will meet us there.”
Jennie was Rosamund’s accompanist, a clever Irish girl who often came to Little Market Street to go through things with Rosamund.
“It will be rather delightful singing to people again,” she added in a joyous voice as they got into the hired carriage. “I hope I’ve really improved.”
“How you love a thing for itself!” he said, as they drove off.
“I think that’s the only way to love.”
“Of course it is. You know the only way to everything beautiful and sane. What I have learnt from you!”