"I shall come back to London with you after Munich," he said, "and
settle down to study. I do know a certain amount about harmony already;
I have been mugging it up for the last three years. But I must do
something as well as learn something, and, as I told you, I'm going to
take up the piano seriously."
Falbe was not attending particularly.
"A fine instrument, the piano," he remarked. "There is certainly
something to be done with a piano, if you know how to do it. I can strum
a bit myself. Some keys are harder than others--the black notes."
"Yes; what of the black notes?" asked Michael.
"Oh! they're black. The rest are white. I beg your pardon!"
Michael laughed.
"When you have finished drivelling," he said, "you might let me know."
"I have finished drivelling, Michael. I was thinking about something
else."
"Not really?"
"Really."
"Then it was impolite of you, but you haven't any manners. I was talking
about my career. I want to do something, and these large hands are
really rather nimble. But I must be taught. The question is whether you
will teach me."
Falbe hesitated.
"I can't tell you," he said, "till I have heard you play. It's like
this: I can't teach you to play unless you know how, and I can't tell
if you know how until I have heard you.
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