Anna meanwhile paid more attention to her new acquaintance than to her performance, and looked at her with great interest. There was something about Delia’s short, compact figure; her firm chin; the crisp, wavy hair which rose from her broad, low forehead like a sort of halo, which gave an impression of strength and reliability not unmingled with self-will. This last quality, however, was not so marked while she was playing. Her face then was at its best, and its usual somewhat defiant air softened into a wistfulness which was almost beauty. Before the tune was finished, Anna was quite ready to rush into a close friendship, if Delia would respond to it, but of this she felt rather in doubt.
“How beautifully you play!” she exclaimed, as Delia dropped her bow, and shut up her music-book.
A very little smile curled Delia’s lips.
“That shows one thing,” she answered, “you don’t know much about music, or you would not call my playing beautiful.”
“Well, it sounds so to me,” said Anna, a little abashed by this directness of speech, “but I certainly don’t know much about music; Aunt Sarah says I need not go on with it while I am here.”
“I play very badly,” said Delia; “if you wish to hear beautiful playing, you must listen to your grandfather.”
“Must I?” said Anna, vaguely. “I thought,” she added, “that he played the organ in Dornton church.”
“So he does,” said Delia, “but he plays the violin too. And he gives lessons. He taught me.”
She looked searchingly at her companion, whose fair face reddened a little.
“I owe everything to him,” continued Delia; “without what he has done for me my life would be dark. He brought light into it when he taught me to play and to love music.”