That came out of her note to Daisy Quantock (and perhaps to others as well), but Lucia could not have known that Georgie had already been told about that. “Now, I’ve come here to take your mind off these sad things,” he said. “You mustn’t dwell on them any longer.” She rose briskly. “You’ve been ever so good to me,” she said. “I should just have moped if I had been alone.” She lapsed into the baby-language which they sometimes spoke, varying it with easy Italian. “Ickle music, Georgie?” she said. “And you must be kindy-kindy to me. No practice all these days. You brought Mozart? Which part is easiest? Lucia wants to take easiest part.” “Lucia shall take which ever part she likes,” said Georgie who had had a good practise at both. “Treble then,” said Lucia. “But oh, how diffy it looks! Hundreds of ickle notes. And me so tupid at reading! Come on then. You begin, Uno, due, tre.” The light by the piano was not very good, but Georgie did not want to put on his spectacles unless he was obliged, for he did not think Lucia knew that he wore them, and somehow spectacles did not seem to “go” with Oxford trousers. But it was no good, and after having made a miserable hash of the first page, he surrendered. “Me must put on speckies,” he said. “Me a blind old man.” Then he had an immense surprise. “And me a blind old woman,” said Lucia. “I’ve just got speckies too. Oh, Georgie, aren’t we getting vecchio? Now we’ll start again. Uno, due----” The Mozart went beautifully after that, and each of them inwardly wondered at the accuracy of the other’s reading. Lucia suspected that Georgie had been having a try at it, but then, after all, she had had the choice of which part she would take, and if Georgie had practised already, he would have been almost certain to have practised the treble; it never entered her head that he had been so thorough as to practise both. Then they played it through again, changing parts, and again it went excellently. It was late now, and soon Georgie rose to go. “And what shall I say if anybody who knows I’ve been dining with you, asks if you’ve told me anything?” he asked. Lucia closed the piano and concentrated. “Say nothing of our plans about the house in Brompton Square,” she said, “but there’s no reason why people shouldn’t know that there is a house there. I hate secretiveness, and after all, when the will comes out, everyone will know. So say there is a house there, full of beautiful things. And similarly they will know about the money. So say what Pepino thinks it will come to.” “I see,” said Georgie. She came with him to the door, and strolled out into the little garden in front where the daffodils were in flower. The night was clear, but moonless, and the company of stars burned brightly.