"
"I don't comprehend, I am sure."
"I do not expect you should."
"I never did understand you."
"You never will." Silence again.
Flora tuned up, and, of all tunes, she must needs hum _my_ song. I was
on my feet in a moment to depart, when I heard the clear tones of
Etty's voice again, and stood still, with one foot advanced.
"Flora, you should sharp that third note in the last line."
Flora murdered it again, with the most atrocious, cold-blooded
cruelty. I almost mocked the sound aloud in my passion.
"I do not tell you to vex you, only I saw that Mr. Ratcliffe--"
"You need not trouble yourself about _his_ opinion."
"I knew you would not like it, if I told you of a mistake. But I
supposed you would rectify it, and I should have done you a kindness,
even against your will."
"And I to hate you for it, eh?"
"If you can."
"Indeed I cannot, Etty, for you are my very best friend. But you are a
horrid, truth-telling, formidable body. Why not let me sing on, my own
way? I don't thank you a bit. I had rather sing it wrong, than be
corrected. It hurts my pride. I think people should take my music as
they find it. If it does not please them, they are not obliged to ask
me to sing. One note wrong can surely be put up with, if the rest is
worth hearing.
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