"It's so stupid—practising for one's self alone."
"Why for yourself alone? Why not give other people pleasure. See how pleased your father was yesterday with Merryl's playing."
"He wouldn't have cared for mine. Father hates classical music, and I hate jigs. Merryl only strums. She hasn't a spark of music in her."
"At all events, she does her best; and you do not. You have a real gift for the piano, and you are neglecting it."
"Whatever Merryl does is right, and whatever I do is wrong."
Mrs. Royston sighed. "You always have an answer ready, Magda. I did think at one time—when we so nearly lost our darling Merryl—that you meant to be different. But you go on now just the same. I should like these notes taken, please, at once—and you can ask for the answers."
"Verbal?" Magda spoke in a hard tone, all the more because her mother's words had struck home.
"I don't mind; only, if you bring verbal replies, do bring them correctly."
Magda took up one of the notes. "All the way to Claughton!"
"You used to think nothing of bicycling there two or three times a week. Why should you mind it now?"