“That’s up to you, Mr. Music Master.”
“Then by all means. I shall want your report of the sale of your violin as soon as you have it.”
“That you shall.” She left him softly playing upon the violin, and went on to mail her note. “It’s just as well that it is addressed to Don Pedro,” she said to herself, “otherwise Mrs. Perry would be consumed with curiosity to know who my new correspondent might be. She keeps a mental list of all my other ones, I am sure.”
Caro was just stepping out of the completed party frock when Ellen came into the room where she was. “What a time you have been,” she exclaimed. “You haven’t been shut up in that cold house all this time, I hope.”
“Well, no; I was at the church with Mr. Todd part of the time, and I went to the post-office to mail a letter.”
“Frank Ives has been trying to get you on the ’phone. He has called up two or three times.”
“What did he want?”
“He wouldn’t leave his message, although I tried to get him to. He said he must speak to you himself, and that he would come around before one o’clock, so don’t run off again.”
Ellen’s only response was: “How pretty your dress is, Caro. It is mighty becoming, too. You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
“Not if you are there.”