“That’s so. I never did like these mannish females.”
“I mean—of course, I admire them, dreadfully, and I feel so weak and useless beside them.”
“Oh, rats now! I bet you play the piano like a wiz.”
“Oh, no— I mean—not really.”
“Well, I’ll bet you do!” He glanced at her smooth hands, her diamond and ruby rings. She caught the glance, snuggled her hands together with a kittenish curving of slim white fingers which delighted him, and yearned:
“I do love to play— I mean— I like to drum on the piano, but I haven’t had any real training. Mr. Judique used to say I would’ve been a good pianist if I’d had any training, but then, I guess he was just flattering me.”
“I’ll bet he wasn’t! I’ll bet you’ve got temperament.”
“Oh— Do you like music, Mr. Babbitt?”
“You bet I do! Only I don’t know ’s I care so much for all this classical stuff.”
“Oh, I do! I just love Chopin and all those.”