“I must not tire you for I shall want you to read to me often. Do you sing? I suppose you have not begun to play?”
“No, Mrs. Barrington thought I would, in the new term. And she also thought my voice was—” Marguerite paused, afraid of being too presuming.
“Worth cultivating, was not that what she said? It is a contralto that can express profound depths of feeling. I had it years ago and your father was wild over it. He will be delighted. Zay’s voice is a light soprano. She plays very well. Yes, you must take up music.”
“Oh, mother, it doesn’t seem as if so many lovely things should come to me!”
“Why not, when you have been in the desert all these years?”
They clasped each other in a fond embrace. Oh, was it really true that she was a daughter of the house, that she had a right to the love and care? Could she ever give enough to repay?
There was a stir down stairs and some merry voices. Major Crawford rejoined his wife presently.
“The two Chichester girls to see if the children are sure to go to the Van Ordens, though I think their eagerness is most for Will,” laughing. “His gay time will soon be over. Zay’s as well. Next week school will begin, and Marguerite must come under rules. The chief one is that there is no frollicking until Friday evening, no holiday until Saturday.”
“Oh, I wish girls did not have to grow up so fast. Think how soon they will be sixteen,” bemoaned the mother.
“I kept another birthday,” said Marguerite. “I am glad to go back even the few months.”