"That means that she praised your playing up to the skies," suggested Polly. "I have not lived in the house with musicians all these years to no purpose."
Betsy and Dick laughed; but Tom ignored their laughter as well as Polly's rudeness.
"I knew what a mind she had when she gave me her opinion on Handel last night," said he. "'Handel spent all his life building cathedrals,' were her words."
"And somebody else's words, I daresay, before they descended to her," remarked Polly. "But they are not true; at least, I never heard of Handel's building any cathedral. Let us count all the cathedrals in England, and you'll very soon see----"
"Of course, every one must know that she was alluding to the oratorios of Handel," said he. "Has anything finer or more apt been said about the oratorios, Dick?"
"The phrase is very apt--indeed, it is striking," acquiesced Dick.
This degree of praise by no means satisfied Tom. He gave an exclamation that sounded almost derisive.
"Apt--striking--almost striking!" he cried. "_Cielo!_ have you no appreciation of perfection? I tell you that nothing finer--nothing more beautiful was ever said in the world."
"Oh, she must have been impressed by your playing," said Polly.
"Don't be a goose, Polly," said Betsy. Then she turned to her brother. "Yes, dear Tom, any one who knows anything of Handel's methods will allow that to suggest a parallel between one of his great oratorios and a cathedral is--is--well, all that you say it is."
"Only one who is devoted to music and who understands its mysteries could have so sublime a thought," said Tom. "I felt it to be a great privilege to be permitted to play to such an audience this afternoon."
"For three mortal hours," whispered Polly.
"Three hours--immortal hours," said Tom. "But the time was all too short."
"I am afraid that I shall never be a musician," said Polly, with a stage sigh.
"What did you play for Mrs. Abington, Tom?" asked Betsy.
"I took some rolls of music with me," replied Tom; "but I found that there was no need to have gone to such trouble. She wished to have it explained to her how--how--never mind, 'twas a theory of mine--we talked together about it--she and I--last night in the Long Room. Mr. Walpole came up--Mr. Selwyn--Mr. Williams--they had fresh-made epigrams--pleasantries taken from the French. They wearied her, but she was too polite to yawn in their faces."