"And we have not much to amuse them with," I put in. "We do nothing that young ladies do."
I saw mother purse up her lips at this, and I was vexed that I had said it, but father laughed and said: "No, Hoad, my girls are simple farmer's daughters, and have learned more about gardening and house-keeping than they have about French and piano-playing, though Meg can sing a ballad when she chooses as well as I want to hear it."
I declared my voice was nothing to Miss Hoad's; and Joyce, always gracious, looked across to Mr. Hoad and said: "I wonder whether Miss Jessie would sing something for us at our village concert?"
"I'll ask her," said Mr. Hoad, a little diffidently. "I'm never sure about my daughters' engagements. They have so many engagements."
"We shall be very pleased to see them here any afternoon for a practice, sha'n't we, mother?" added Joyce.
"The young ladies will always be welcome," replied mother, a little stiffly; and I hastened to add, I fear less graciously:
"But pray don't let them break any engagements for us."
Mr. Hoad smiled again, and then father turned to him and they took up the thread of their own talk where they had left it.
"You certainly ought to know that young fellow I was speaking of," Mr. Hoad began. "I was struck with him at once. A wonderful gift of expressing himself, and just that kind of way with him that always wins people—one can't explain it. Handsome, too, and full of enthusiasm."