THE SONG OF THE LARK
preserves and cream cheese for Mr. Ottenburg. And in about fifteen minutes, bring some fresh toast. That 's all, thank you."
For the next few minutes there was a clatter of teacups and responses about sugar. "Landry always takes rum. I 'm glad the rest of you don't. I 'm sure it 's bad." Thea poured the tea standing and got through with it as quickly as possible, as if it were a refreshment snatched between trains. The tea-table and the little room in which it stood seemed to be out of scale with her long step, her long reach, and the energy of her movements. Dr. Archie, standing near her, was pleasantly aware of the animation of her figure. Under the clinging velvet, her body seemed independent and unsubdued.
They drifted, with their plates and cups, back to the music-room. When Thea followed them, Ottenburg put down his tea suddenly. "Are n't you taking anything? Please let me." He started back to the table.
"No, thank you, nothing. I 'm going to run over that aria for you presently, to convince you that I can do it. How did the duet go, with Schlag?"
She was standing in the doorway and Fred came up to her: "That you 'll never do any better. You 've worked your voice into it perfectly. Every nuance—wonderful!"
"Think so?" She gave him a sidelong glance and spoke with a certain gruff shyness which did not deceive anybody, and was not meant to deceive. The tone was equivalent to "Keep it up. I like it, but I 'm awkward with it."
Fred held her by the door and did keep it up, furiously, for full five minutes. She took it with some confusion, seeming all the while to be hesitating, to be arrested in her course and trying to pass him. But she did not really try to pass, and her color deepened. Fred spoke in German, and Archie caught from her an occasional Ja? So? muttered rather than spoken.
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