Hugo said:
‘That music does one good. People could not be bad-tempered or fussed or worried if they heard some Mozart played every day before they got up.’
Guy hummed an Aria from Don Giovanni, a bit we had heard.
‘That is about the most perfect thing of all,’ he said.
Mollie was pouring out the coffee; she always did that part.
‘I think sometimes,’ said Sophia, ‘that music is all wrong, and poetry too, and all that we call art. I wonder sometimes if it isn’t all a kind of dope that we make for ourselves because we can’t face life; and it seems all pointless then.’
I said:
‘How odd that you should say that. It is almost what Mr. Sebright said.’
‘Sebright?’ said George. ‘When did he talk about it?’
‘I went to the British Museum with him the other day.’ I tried to say it nonchalantly, but I felt self-conscious, and that vexed me, for why shouldn’t I go with him? ‘He says Greek vases are like faces without souls.’