He rose to look for them; as he passed Jenny he whispered: “Do you like me to play?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I go on?”
“Yes, please.”
He stroked her hand: “Poor little Jenny. You had better go now—before she comes.”
Mrs. Gram brought a tray of cakes and dessert.
“How nice of you to play to us, Gert. Don’t you think my husband plays beautifully, Miss Winge? Has he played to you before?” she asked innocently.
Jenny shook her head: “I did not know that Mr. Gram played the piano.”
“What a beautiful worker you are.” She looked at Jenny’s embroidery. “I thought you artists did not condescend to do needlework. It is a lovely pattern—where did you get it? Abroad, I suppose?”