"Is it?" she turned to look. "I had not noticed it. Hush! He is going to play the Berceuse. You haven't heard him before, have you? He plays quite well."
So they sat there together whilst Peter Kennedy played, and every now and then Anne said from the sofa:
"How delicious! Thank you ever so much. What was it? I thought I knew the piece."
Peter got up from the piano before Gabriel and Margaret had tired of sitting side by side on the fender stool, or Anne of ejaculating her little complimentary, grateful, or enquiring phrases.
"I suppose you've had enough of it," he said abruptly to Margaret.
"No, I haven't. You could have gone on for another hour."
"I daresay."
Gabriel thought his manner singularly abrupt, almost rude. This was only the second or third time he had met Margaret's medical attendant, and he was not at all favourably impressed by him. As for Peter:
"Damned dry stick," he said to Margaret, when he had persuaded her to the redemption of her promise, and was leading her to the piano.
"What a boor you really are, notwithstanding your playing," she answered calmly, adjusting the
