“Oh, I suppose you’d hang about.” “I’m much too well brought up.” “Rebecca has lighted the hall lamp.” “Yes, it’s grown quite dark. I was here early. You never gave me a good word for it.” “I didn’t notice. There’s a light in the dining-room, we’ll go there.” They went into the dining-room. She stood by the piano and carefully took off the wrap. Then she wandered listlessly about the room for a minute. “Aren’t you coming to sit down?” he said, pointing to the seat on the couch beside him. “Not just now,” she said, trailing aimlessly to the piano. She sat down and began to play at random, from memory. Then she did that most irritating thing—played accompaniments to songs, with snatches of the air where the voice should have predominated. “I say Lettie, . . .” he interrupted after a time. “Yes,” she replied, continuing to play. “It’s not very interesting. . . .” “No?”—she continued to play. “Nor very amusing. . . .” She did not answer. He bore it for a little time longer, then he said: “How much longer is it going to last, Lettie?” “What?” “That sort of business. . . .” “The piano?—I’ll stop playing if you don’t like it.” She did not, however, cease. “Yes—and all this dry business.” “I don’t understand.” “Don’t you?—you make _me._’” There she went on, tinkling away at “If I built a world for you, dear.” “I say, stop it, do!” he cried. She tinkled to the end of the verse, and very slowly closed the piano. “Come on—come and sit down,” he said. “No, I don’t want to.—I’d rather have gone on playing.” “Go on with your damned playing then, and I’ll go where there’s more interest.” “You ought to like it.” 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 him back for you, if you like—if that’s what you want——” She turned on the piano stool slowly and looked at him, smiling faintly. “It is very good of you!” she said.