Elise was not expecting Rutledge to be brought in there, and was still sitting at the piano idly weaving the chords into soft and improvised harmonies when he spoke. She slipped from the stool quickly, shook hands with him in an embarrassed way, and crossed the room to sit down.
"Oh, no, please do not leave the piano," Rutledge pleaded, "now that I have just discovered you are a musician."
"I am not a musician, Mr. Rutledge; certainly not for the public."
Rutledge drew himself up as if offended.
"I have been called names variously in my time, Miss Phillips, but never till this moment 'the public.' I resent it as an aspersion—I am not 'the public'—and demand an abject apology. Think of all the horrible things 'the public' is—and are!"
"And you a politician!" exclaimed Elise. "You would be lost for ever if those words were quoted against you. Senator Killam would give a thousand dollars for them. See—I hold your fate in my hands—"
Rutledge's eyes leaped to hers with a quick look that confused her, and she hurried to cut off his words.
"—But—oh, mercy, I'm—I'm sorry, and I retract if it was really as bad as that. The public is really awful, I suppose. I humbly apologize for the aspersion."
"Then bring forth fruits meet for repentance by returning at once to that piano stool."
"But I'm such a very amateurish singer, Mr. Rutledge. I fear you will—"