"O, music, of course. That's all I know, pretty much. And—make Rose understand."
"Ruth, you're a duck! I like you for it! But I'm not sure I like it."
"Will you do just those two things?"
"It's a beautiful programme. But suppose we leave out the first part? I think you could do that alone. It would spoil it if I went. It's such a nice little spontaneous idea of your own, you see. But if we made it a regular family delegation—besides, it will take as much as all me to manage the second. Rosamond is very elegant to-day. Last night's twilight isn't over. And it's funny we've plans too; we're going to give lessons,—differently; we're going to lead off, for once,—we Holabirds; and I don't know exactly how the music will chime in. It may make things—Holabirdy."
Rosamond had true perceptions, and she was conscientious. What she said, therefore, when she was told, was,—
"O dear! I suppose it is right! But—just now! Right things do come in so terribly askew, like good old Mr. Isosceles, sidling up the broad aisle of a Sunday! Couldn't you wait awhile, Ruth?"
"And then somebody else would get the chance."
"There's nobody else to be had."
"Nobody knows till somebody starts up. They don't know there's me to be had yet."
"O Ruth! Don't offer to teach grammar, anyhow!"