“Why not?”
He crossed his long legs and leaned back, resting his head on a cushion, and puffing the smoke towards the ceiling.
“They all seemed cheery—what? Even Lady Cardington only cried when you were squallin’.”
It was Lord Holme’s habit to speak irreverently of anything he happened to admire.
“She had reason to cry. Miss Filberte’s accompaniment was a tragedy. She never comes here again.”
“What’s the row with her? I thought her fingers got about over the piano awful quick.”
“They did—on the wrong notes.”
She came and sat down beside him.
“You don’t understand music, Fritz, thank goodness.”
“I know I don’t. But why thank what’s-his-name?”