"You haven’t got that tune exactly right, you know," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the music.
"Oh!" She was startled. What did he know about it? He could not play the piano.
"Where are you?" he asked. "Show me. Where’s the confounded place on the piano? Well! At the end you play it like this." He imitated her. "Whereas it ought to be like this." He played the last four notes differently.
"So it ought!" She murmured with submission, after having frowned.
"That bit of a tune’s been running in my head, too," he said.
The strange beauty of Whitman and the strange beauty of Dvorak seemed to unite, and both Edwin and Hilda were uplifted, not merely by these mingled beauties, but by their realisation of the wondrous fact that they both took intense pleasure in the same varied forms of beauty. Happiness rose about them like a sweet smell in the spaces of the comfortable impeccable drawing-room. And for a moment they leaned towards each other in bliss--across the open question.... Was it still open? ... Ah! Edwin might be ingenuous, a simpleton, but Hilda admitted the astounding, mystifying adroitness of his demeanour. Had he abandoned the lithographic project, or was he privately nursing it? In his friendliness towards herself was there a reserve, or was there not? She knew ... she did not know ... she knew.... Yes, there was a reserve, but it was so infinitesimal that she could not define it,--could not decide whether it was due to obstinacy of purpose, or merely to a sense of injury, whether it was resentful or condescending. Exciting times! And she perceived that her new life was gradually getting fuller of such excitements.
"Well," said he. "It’s nearly three. Quarter-day’s coming along. I’d better be off down and earn a bit towards Maggie’s rent."
Before the June quarter-day, he had been jocular in the same way about Maggie’s rent. In the division of old Darius Clayhanger’s estate Maggie had taken over the Clayhanger house, and Edwin paid rent to her therefor.
"I wish you wouldn’t talk like that," said Hilda, pouting amiably.
"Anyhow, the rent has to be paid, I suppose."
"And I wish it hadn’t. I wish we didn’t live in Maggie’s house."
"You can call it what you like. I don’t like the idea of us living in Maggie’s house. I never feel as if I was at home. No, I don’t feel as if I was at home."