He did not answer, so she turned slowly round on the stool, opened the piano, and laid her fingers on the keys. At the sound of the chord he started up, saying: “Then I’m going.”
“It’s very early—why?” she said, through the calm jingle of “Meine Ruh is hin——”
He stood biting his lips. Then he made one more appeal.
“Lettie!”
“Yes?”
“Aren’t you going to leave off—and be—amiable?”
“Amiable?”
“You are a jolly torment. What’s upset you now?”
“Nay, it’s not I who am upset.”
“I’m glad to hear it—what do you call yourself?”
“I?—nothing.”
“Oh, well, I’m going then.”
“Must you?—so early to-night?”
He did not go, and she played more and more softly, languidly, aimlessly. Once she lifted her head to speak, but did not say anything.
“Look here!” he ejaculated all at once, so that she started, and jarred the piano, “What do you mean by it?”
She jingled leisurely a few seconds before answering, then she replied:
“What a worry you are!”
“I suppose you want me out of the way while you sentimentalise over that milkman. You needn’t bother. You can do it while I’m here. Or I’ll go and leave you in peace. I’ll go and call
