On the very afternoon when Ella Martin and Kitty Fletcher were talking about her, Mildred, quite unconscious of their concern on her behalf, was at home, trying to make up some arrears on her practising sheet. The cosy upstairs sitting-room of the corner house in Meredith Terrace was a cheerful place, though the carpet was worn and the curtains were faded. The long rows of shelves on either side of the fire-place were overflowing with books; on the walls hung prints, etchings, and water-colour sketches, most of them unframed, and pinned here and there, without any definite order as to arrangement, so as to secure the best light available. An unfinished red-chalk drawing stood on an easel by the open piano, a pot full of tulips made a rich spot of colour against the old green table-cloth, and a large grey Persian cat slept peacefully and luxuriously in the arm-chair.
It was a congenial atmosphere for study, and Mildred, who stood with her violin in the bow-window, had the dreamy, far-away expression in her eyes which, to those who knew her, meant that her artistic side was uppermost. Her long, thin, supple fingers were bringing real music from her instrument. Though her gaze might be fixed upon the piece placed upon the stand before her, she was paying no heed to it, for the snatches of melody, now bright and joyful, now soft and sad, which floated through the room were of her own improvising, a kind of reflection of the spring sunshine and the twittering of the birds outside that found its expression in the notes which flowed so richly and easily that it almost seemed as if her violin were speaking with a human voice. One cannot live long, however, in a world composed only of sweet sounds, and Mildred found her day-dream quickly and suddenly dispelled by the opening of the door and the brisk entrance of her aunt.
"Mildred, dear! Do you call this practising? I thought you had promised me to keep strictly to your concerto. When I last heard it there were still a great many mistakes, and I'm afraid Herr Hoffmann will be anything but satisfied when you go for your next lesson."
Thus brought back to the practical side of life, Mildred put down her violin with a sigh.
"Such a lovely idea came into my head, Tantie! I just had to try it over at once, for fear it should go out again. I thought I might enjoy myself for ten minutes!"
Mrs. Graham did not look approving.
"How many scales and arpeggios have you played?" she enquired gravely.
"Well, not any yet. I can do them after tea."
"And your exercise?"
"Oh! there'll be plenty of time to learn that before next Wednesday. It's quite an easy one."