Bertha made the remark, smiling good-naturedly at her husband, but Miss Ley drew conclusions.
“I don’t mind confessing that I can’t stand all this foreign music. What I say to Bertha is—why can’t you play English stuff?”
“If you must play at all,” interposed his wife.
“After all’s said and done The Blue Bells of Scotland has got a tune about it that a fellow can get his teeth into.”
“You see, there’s the difference,” said Bertha, strumming a few bars of Rule Britannia, “it sets mine on edge.”
“Well, I’m patriotic,” retorted Edward. “I like the good, honest, homely English airs. I like ’em because they’re English. I’m not ashamed to say that for me the best piece of music that’s ever been written is God Save the Queen.”
“Which was written by a German, dear Edward,” said Miss Ley, smiling.
“That’s as it may be,” said Edward, unabashed, “but the sentiment’s English and that’s all I care about.”
“Hear! hear!” cried Bertha. “I believe Edward has aspirations towards a political career. I know I shall finish up as the wife of the local M.P.”
“I’m patriotic,” said Edward, “and I’m not ashamed to confess it.”