"
Hermann sat down on the treble part of his piano.
"That's the most conceited thing I've heard you say yet," he remarked.
"Nobody will pay any attention to you; you won't kill anybody's joy.
Also it's rather rude of you."
"I didn't mean to be rude," said Michael.
"Then we must suppose you were rude by accident. That is the worst sort
of rudeness."
"I'm sorry; I'll come," said Michael.
"That's right. You might even find yourself enjoying it by accident, you
know. If you don't, you can go away. There's music; Sylvia sings quite
seriously sometimes, and other people sing or bring violins, and those
who don't like it, talk--and then we get less serious. Have a try,
Michael. See if you can't be less serious, too."
Michael slipped despairingly from his seat.
"If only I knew how!" he said. "I believe my nurse never taught me to
play, only to remember that I was a little gentleman. All the same, when
I am with you, or with my cousin Francis, I can manage it to a certain
extent."
Falbe looked at him encouragingly.
"Oh, you're getting on," he said. "You take yourself more for granted
than you used to. I remember you when you used to be polite on purpose.
It's doing things on purpose that makes one serious.
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