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. 'The sort of lessons he would get at a
school would be no use to him.'

'So I should think,' murmured Edith.

'Leave it, say, for the moment, and when he comes back for his next
holidays put him under a good teacher--a really great man. And
you'll see!'

'I daresay we shall,' said Bruce, considerably relieved at the
postponement. 'Funny though, isn't it, his not knowing one tune from
another, when he's a born musician?'