“But you were always very fond of music.  Dont you ever play together, as we used to do; or sing to one another’s accompaniments?”

“I cannot.  I hardly ever touch the piano when he is in the house.”

“Why?  Are you afraid of preventing him from having his turn?”

“No:  it is not so much that.  But—­it sounds very silly—­if I attempt to play or sing in his presence, I become so frightfully nervous that I hardly know what I am doing.  I know he does not like my singing.”

“Are you sure that is not merely your fancy?  It sounds very like it.”

“No.  At first I used to play a good deal for him, knowing that he was fond of music, and fancying—­poor fool that I was! [here Marian spoke so bitterly that Nelly turned and looked hard at her] that it was part of a married woman’s duty in a house to supply music after dinner.  At that time he was working hard at his business; and he spent so much time in the city that he had to give up playing himself.  Besides, we were flying all about England opening those branch offices, and what not.  He always took me with him; and I really enjoyed it, and took quite an interest in the Company.  When we were in London, although I was so much alone in the daytime, I was happy in anticipating our deferred honeymoon.  Then the time for that paradise came.  Ned said that the Company was able to walk by itself at last, and that he was going to have a long holiday after his dry-nursing of it.  We went first to Paris, where we heard all the classical concerts that were given while we were there.  I found that he never tired of listening to orchestral music; and yet he never ceased grumbling at it.  He thought nothing of the great artists in Paris.  Then we went for a tour through Brittany; and there, in spite of his classical tastes, he used to listen to the peasants’ songs and write them down.  He seemed to like folk songs of all kinds, Irish, Scotch, Russian, German, Italian, no matter where from.  So one evening, at a lodging where there was a piano, I played for him that old arrangement of Irish melodies—­you know—­’Irish Diamonds,’ it is called.”

“Oh Lord!  Yes, I remember.  ‘Believe me if all,’ with variations.”

“Yes.  He thought I meant it in jest:  he laughed at it, and played a lot of ridiculous variations to burlesque it.  I didnt tell him that I had been in earnest:  perhaps you can imagine how I felt about it.  Then, after that, in Italy, he got permission—­or rather bought it—­to try the organ in a church.  It was growing dusk; I was tired with walking; and somehow between the sense of repose, and the mysterious twilight in the old church, I was greatly affected by his playing.  I thought it must be part of some great mass or symphony; and I felt how little I knew about music, and how trivial my wretched attempts must appear to him when he had such grand harmonies at his fingers’ ends.  But he soon stopped; and when I was about to tell him how I appreciated his performance, he said,