Page 43 - tender-is-the-night

Speck, or Late Blight.’ He pointed his forefinger decisively at
Rosemary, saying with a lightness seeming to conceal a pa-
ternal interest, ‘I’m going to save your reason—I’m going to
give you a hat to wear on the beach.’
He turned them from the garden to the terrace, where he
poured a cocktail. Earl Brady arrived, discovering Rosemary
with surprise. His manner was softer than at the studio, as if
his differentness had been put on at the gate, and Rosemary,
comparing him instantly with Dick Diver, swung sharply
toward the latter. In comparison Earl Brady seemed faintly
gross, faintly ill-bred; once more, though, she felt an electric
response to his person.
He spoke familiarly to the children who were getting up
from their outdoor supper.
‘Hello, Lanier, how about a song? Will you and Topsy
sing me a song?’
‘What shall we sing?’ agreed the little boy, with the
odd chanting accent of American children brought up in
France.
‘That song about ‘Mon Ami Pierrot.’’
Brother and sister stood side by side without self-con-
sciousness and their voices soared sweet and shrill upon the
evening air.

“Au clair de la lune
Mon Ami Pierrot
Prête-moi ta plume
Pour écrire un mot
Ma chandelle est morte

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