“We shall feel hopelessly in debt if you look after us so well,” smiled the young man ironically.
“I must look after you,” said Beatrice.
“You do—wonderfully. I feel that we owe you large debts of gratitude.” The meals were generally late, and something was always wrong.
“Because I scan a list of puddings?” smiled Beatrice uneasily.
“For the puddings themselves, and all your good things. The piano, for instance. That was very nice indeed.” He bowed to her.
“Did it disturb you? But one does not hear very well in the study.”
“I opened the door,” said MacWhirter, bowing again.
“It is not fair,” said Beatrice. “I am clumsy now—clumsy. I once could play.”
“You play excellently. Why that ‘once could’?” said MacWhirter.
“Ah, you are amiable. My old master would have said differently,” she replied.
“We,” said MacWhirter, “are humble amateurs, and to us you are more than excellent.”
“Good old Monsieur Fannière, how he would scold me! He said I would not take my talent out of the napkin. He would quote me the New Testament. I always think Scripture sounds false in French, do not you?”
“Er—my acquaintance with modern languages is not extensive, I regret to say.”
“No? I was brought up at a convent school near Rouen.”
“Ah—that would be very interesting.”
