Harmony had been practicing, and at the end she played a
little winter song by some modern composer. It breathed all the
purity of a white winter's day; it was as chaste as ice and as
cold; and yet throughout was the thought of green things hiding
beneath the snow and the hope of spring.
Harmony, having finished, voiced some such feeling. She was
rather ashamed of her thought.
"It seems that way to me," she finished apologetically. "It
sounds rather silly. I always think I can tell the sort of person
who composes certain things."
"And this gentleman who writes of winter?"
"I think he is very reserved. And that he has never loved any
one."
"Indeed!"
"When there is any love in music, any heart, one always feels it,
exactly as in books--the difference between a love story
and--and--"
"--a dictionary!"
"You always laugh," Harmony complained
"That's better than weeping. When I think of the rotten way
things go in this world I want to weep always."
"I don't find it a bad world. Of course there are bad people, but
there are good ones."
"Where? Peter and you and I, I suppose."
"There are plenty of good men."
"What do you call a good man?"
Harmony hesitated, then went on bravely:--
"Honorable men."
Anna smiled. "My dear child," she said, "you substitute the code
of a gentleman for the Mosaic Law. Of course your good man is a
monogamist?"
Harmony nodded, puzzled eyes on Anna.
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