'Whatever you like.'
He broke into a popular waltz, playing it derisively, yet with
passion, so that Mrs. Batty's ponderous head began to sway and
Henrietta's feet to tap. He played as though his heart were in the
dance, and to Henrietta there came delightful visions, thrilling
sensations, unaccountable yearnings. It was like the music she had
heard at the theatre, but more beautiful. Her eyes widened, but she
kept them lowered, her mouth softened and she caught her lip.
'Now I call that lovely,' Mrs. Batty said, with the last chord. His
look questioned Henrietta and she, cautious, simply smiled at him,
with a tilt of the lips, a little raising of the eyebrows, meant to
assure him that she felt as he did.
'If you'd play a pretty tune like that now and then, people would be
glad to listen,' Mrs. Batty went on. 'I'm sure I quite enjoyed it.'
Henrietta's suspicions were confirmed by these eulogies: she knew
already that what Mrs. Batty appreciated, her son would despise, and
she kept her little smile, saying tactfully, 'It certainly made one
want to dance.'
'Can you sing?' he asked.
'Oh, a little.' She became timid. 'I'm going to learn.' With those
vague eyes staring at her, she felt the need of justification. 'Aunt
Caroline says every girl ought to sing. She and Aunt Sophia used to
sing duets.'
'Good heavens!' The exclamation came from the depths of Charles
Batty's being. 'They don't do it now, do they?'
Henrietta's pretty laughter rang out.
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