A curtain
separated it from another smaller room, which again had a separate
entrance into the hall on the left, and, through a very small
dressing-room, led into the street on the right side.
Sir Tito was waiting for Edith, spick, span and debonair as always
(although during the war he had discarded his buttonhole). He was
occupied, as he usually was in his leisure time, not in playing the
piano or composing, but--in making photograph frames! This was his
hobby, and people often said that he took more pleasure in the carving,
cutting out, gumming and sticking together of these objects than in
composing the melodies that were known and loved all over the world.
As soon as Edith came in he showed her a tiny frame carved with
rosebuds.
'Regarde,' he said, his eyes beaming. 'Voila! C'est mignon,
n'est-ce-pas? On dirait un petit coeur! Ravissante, hein?' He gazed at
it lovingly.
'Very sweet,' said Edith, laughing. 'Who is it for?'
'Why, it's for your _mignonne_, Dilly. I've cut out a photograph of hers
in the shape of a heart. Gentil, n'est ce pas?'
He showed it to her with childish pleasure. Then he put all traces of
the work carefully away in a drawer and drew Edith near to the fire.
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