"I have watched you once or twice when I have been singing to you.

Do you really care for it ?" "Certainly I do.

How can you doubt it?
I do not," he continued, slowly, "understand music, or anything of that sort, of course, any more than I do the pictures you take me to see, and some of the books you talk about.

There are lots of things I can't get the hang of entirely, but they all leave a sort of pleasure behind.

One feels it even if one only half appreciates." She came over to his chair.
"I am glad," she said, a little wistfully, "that there is one thing I do which you like." He looked at her reprovingly.
"My dear Beatrice," he said, "I often wish I could make you understand how extraordinarily helpful and useful to me you have been." "Tell me in what way ?" she begged.
"You have given me," he assured her, "an insight into many things in life which I had found most perplexing.