"I'm sure," he continued, "I can accompany anything except a man juggling dinner-plates—and then I'd be afraid of making him drop the plates. But songs—oh, songs! Con molto espressione!"
And again he trilled the imaginary keyboard, and smiled his rather fat cheeks at Alvina.
She began to like him. There was something a little dainty about him, when you knew him better—really rather fastidious. A showman, true enough! Blatant too. But fastidiously so.
He came fairly frequently to Manchester House after this. Miss Pinnegar was rather stiff with him and he did not like her. But he was very happy sitting chatting tête-à-tête with Alvina.
"Where is your wife?" said Alvina to him.
"My wife! Oh, don't speak of her," he said comically. "She's in London."
"Why not speak of her?" asked Alvina.
