Madame Frabelle turned to Edith.
'Won't you feel proud when you see your son conducting his own opera, to
the applause of thousands? Won't it be something to be the mother of the
greatest English composer of the twentieth century?'
'It would be rather fun.'
'We shan't hear quite so much about Strauss, Elgar, Debussy and all
those people when Archie Ottley grows up,' declared Madame Frabelle.
'I hear very little about them now,' said Bruce.
'Well, how should you at the Foreign Office, or the golf-links, or the
club?' asked Edith.
Bruce ignored Edith, and went on: 'Perhaps he'll turn out to be a Lionel
Monckton or a Paul Rubens. Perhaps he'll write comic opera revues or
musical comedies.'
'Oh dear, no,' said their guest, shaking her head decidedly. 'It will be
the very highest class, the top of the tree! The real thing!'
'Madame Frabelle _may_ be right, you know,' said Bruce.
She leant back, smiling.
'I _know_ I'm right! There's simply no question about it.'
'Well, what do you think we ought to do about it?' said Edith. 'He goes
to a preparatory school now where they don't have any music lessons
at all.'
'All the better,' she answered.
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