Or, better, on another."
She looked at him earnestly. "Have you ever sung to an obbligato?"
"None of my songs, thus far, has called for one. An obbligato? Never so
much honored. No, indeed. Why, to me it would seem almost like singing with
an orchestra. Imagine a 'cello. Imagine a flute--still I'm not a soprano
going mad. Or imagine a saxophone; that might be droll."
He gave out a sort of dragging bleat. She did not smile; perhaps she felt
such an approach to waggery unworthy of him. Perhaps she was holding him up
to the dignity of the natural scene, and to the importance of the occasion
as she conceived it.
Cope had no desire to figure as a comique, and at once regained sobriety.
"Of course," he admitted, "we are not at a _the dansant_ or a cabaret.
Such things ought not to be thought of--here."
She turned her eyes on him again, with a new look of sympathy and
understanding. Perhaps understanding between them had failed or lapsed but
a moment before.
"How all of this shames the town!" she said.
"And us--if we misbehave," he added.
Mrs. Phillips came scurrying along, collecting her scattered guests, as
before.
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