Two raucous buzzes near the desk caused the secretary to look up wearily.
“You can go in now.”
Dorothy looked questioningly at the secretary for instructions.
“Go right through.”
It was too late to withdraw. She would face Soedlich, But if he-
Dorothy passed through the dressing-room and found the door to the music-room open. Soedlich stood near the entrance and greeted her with a smile. She noticed that he wore a cutaway but there was still much of the unkempt, uncouth lecturer whom she had known at St. Cecilia’s.
“Miss Reitz? How do you do?"
He put forward his hand and clasped Dorothy’s.
“Let’s have a little talk first,” he suggested.
He sat beside her on a cozy sofa. Dorothy was surprised that a man so careless of his appearance should have so neat and so delicately designed a studio. An ebony grand piano, draped in a glittering orange cover, took up one corner of the room. There was a little desk near the door and a large cabinet along one wall. Instead of the conventional wall lights or chandeliers there were four large golden lamps, on slender pedestals. The light was diffused and the atmosphere was intimately silky.
“So you are almost ready for your recital,” remarked Soedlich.
Dorothy heard in his ordinarily drab voice lyric overtones which had been absent or unnoticed when he dis- cussed the life of Verdi.
“You have your program?"
“I’m sorry— I forgot to bring it.”
Soedlich chuckled.
[145]
