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At its further end stood a grand piano, so placed that whoever was playing commanded a full view of the remainder of the room, and at this moment the piano-stool was occupied by Signor Baroni himself, evidently in the midst of giving a lesson to a young man who was standing at his elbow.
The sight of Alexina brought a thrill of hope. Surely, Miss Alex would listen to her, and be sorry. "Charlotte, what is this I hear about you?" Alexina demanded, seating herself on the piano-stool. "Oh, Miss Alex, I am so unhappy." Charlotte, who was kneeling to put away some music in the cabinet, sank in a forlorn little heap at her feet.
The voice, the shoulders, the smile, the words, the lips, the arms, the whole mind and body, were rounding to maturity. "Why do you never come to church in the morning?" asks Miss Le Baron, wheeling around on her piano-stool suddenly. "You are only there at night, with your mother." "I go only on her account," replies David, truthfully.
It irked her horribly to be jeered at for making a mistake in speaking, and Uncle James, seeing she was hurt, rested satisfied for the moment, and arranged Mildred and Bernadine together in a group, leaving Beth huddled up on the piano-stool, frowning. When Lady Benyon's carriage stopped at the door, Uncle James stood bareheaded on the steps, ready to receive her.
At the same moment the piano-stool came down upon the floor with a crash, upset by her in whirling round to reach him, and before he knew what had happened she was out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Never had she been in a greater fury of passion.
She could just see Imogen's figure as she sat on the sofa, and Clover twirling uneasily about on the piano-stool. All the time she kept listening to hear if Aunt Izzie were not coming, and altogether the parlor was a dismal place to her; not half so pleasant as the asparagus bower, where they felt perfectly safe. But Imogen, who, for the first time, seemed comfortable, began to talk.
The clock downstairs struck the half-hour, and Bannister, reminded of what lay before him outside, made a move to go. Her alert eyes had been expecting it, and she forestalled him by a change of tactics. Moved apparently by impulse, she seated herself on the piano-stool, swept the keys for an instant with her fingers, and plunged into the brilliant "Carmen" overture.
The Solitary listened, with his heart in his eyes and a sob in his throat; then, Heaven knows under the inspiration of what memory, he brushed Edith from the piano-stool, and, seating himself in her place, played as if he were impelled by some irresistible force. The hand of a master had never swept those keys before, and he held his hearers spellbound. There was a silence that could be felt.
The door stood ajar, and he said, as she put out her hand to push it open, "I am Mr. Langbourne." "Oh, yes," she answered in the same high, gay tinkle, which he fancied had now a note of laughter in it. An elderly woman of a ladylike village type was sitting with some needlework beside a little table, and a young girl turned on the piano-stool and rose to receive him. "My aunt, Mrs. Simpson, Mr.
He paid his homage in form to the mistress of the house; raised his eyebrows at Milly, who returned the gesture; smiled upon Ethel, who feebly waved a hand as if too exhausted to do more; and then sat down on the piano-stool, carefully easing the strain on his trousers at the knees and exposing an inch of fine wool socks above his American boots.
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