The professor shook hands with me in a very friendly manner; he really seemed pleased to see me. Oh, it is awfully nice for a girl in a strange land, feeling alone and lonesome, to have some one glad to see her. He had not spoken to me since that morning my uncle introduced me to him, but he has seen me a number of times when I have been out in the carriage with my grandmother and aunt.
He seated himself beside me, and we were just beginning to chat pleasantly when my Aunt Gwendolin said:
"You have not heard our little Dependency sing, Professor Ballington?"
Grandmother's cheeks flushed, and Uncle Theodore looked embarrassed.
"Pearl, dear," she added sweetly, addressing me, "give us one of your stirring Spanish songs before we go to lunch. You can sing better before lunch than after."
In obedience to the request—which I felt to be a command—I went to the piano and sang lightly the only Spanish song I could sing.
All the hearers seemed pleased with my effort. Professor Ballington looked calmly at me, but a smile lay behind his blue eyes. What did that smile mean?
We immediately sat down to lunch, and I was saved the embarrassment of having to tell that I could only sing one Spanish song. I guess Aunt Gwendolin made sure that no such a dilemma should occur.
By some stray remark of Uncle Theodore's, the conversation at the table turned on what he calls the "Asiatic Problem."
"Those dreadful Asiatics," interposed Aunt Gwendolin, "so sly and subtle, they certainly should be shut out. They are a menace to any country."