Lucille shook her head. “I am not as accomplished as Victor has made me out to be, I am afraid. I practice, but I am not exceptionally skilled in any occupation, and I get dreadfully nervous playing in front of others.”
“I do believe you are being modest,” I countered.
“I am not,” Lucille swore. “And please, do call me Lucille.”
I beamed. “Lucille, I do believe you are being modest then.”
Lucille laughed daintily. The sound evoked images of fairies and trails of magic dust. She appeared so lighthearted and honest that I pictured her flitting around the room.
“I hope you do not find this too forward of me to ask. But are you and Victor getting along well?” I asked.
Lucille’s laugh faded a bit. “Yes, we are. We were introduced through my father while Victor was traveling. My father was
