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All this time Marie was sitting upon the piano-stool; she had turned it half-way round so that she could look at the people.
I could not help it," he repeated. "And I do not care if you are angry. I am glad I did it." "Glad?" echoed Maimie again, not knowing what to say. "Yes, glad," he said, exultantly. "Are you?" She made no reply. The door opened behind them. She sank down upon the piano-stool and let her hands fall upon the keys. "Are you?" he demanded, ignoring the interruption.
the riotous, beautiful voice rang on, the sound overflowing through the long rooms, across the hall, even into the dining- room. Harris, wiping dishes in the pantry, stopped, tea-towel in hand, and listened; Sarah Maitland, at her desk, lifted her head, and the pen slipped from her fingers. Blair, spinning around on the piano-stool, caught his sister about her waist in a hug that made her squeak.
Lulu nodded, and stepped into the room with a "Good-morning, signor." "Good-morning, mees; you are von leetle moment too late." Deigning no reply to that, Lulu took possession of the piano-stool, spread out her music and began playing. "Dat ish too fast, mees; you should not make it like to a galop or a valtz," stormed the little man. Without a word Lulu changed her time, playing very slowly.
This was what the girl's wistful eyes said to him; this was the reproach of her trembling lips; this was the accusation of her dejected figure, as she drooped in vision before him on the piano-stool and passed her hand soundlessly over the key-board.
Holding his arm for support, she drew a chair instead of the piano-stool to the instrument, and seated herself. Dr. Grey raised the lid, and waited some seconds, expecting her to play, but she sat still and mute, and presently he stooped to catch a glimpse of her countenance. "I want to see Elsie's grave. Open the blinds." He threw open the shutters, and came back to the piano.
The young man who had chosen himself master of ceremonies at the hop the night before now proposed from the social background where he had hitherto kept himself, "I will call you Daphne." "You will call me Miss Desmond, if you please, Mr. Ellett." The owner of the name had been facing her visitors from the piano-stool with her back to the instrument.
And in a moment they had both made their escape, to the major's vast amusement. For the time being the music in the drawing-room had stopped and David and Caroline were deep in an animated conversation. "The trouble about it is that I am about to have my light put out," David was complaining as he sat on the piano-stool, glaring at a vase of unoffending roses on a table.
"I thought you all went down to the croquet-ground?" "Yes, we did. But she came back, and left Miss Custer and myself to finish our game." "Oh, then I presume she is in her room. Have you finished playing, Miss Custer?" with a smile of placid indifference as Miss Custer turned round on the piano-stool. "Yes," said Miss Custer, getting up and taking a chair.
The girl coloured with pleasure, resting pensively above the key-board; but he had no further requests to make and presently she swung around on the piano-stool, looking at him. "You sing all right; you are doing your part as far as I can discover." "There is nothing for you to discover that I have not told you," she said gravely.
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