"But it is. I saw a note addressed to you in the butler's hand."
"Well, it shall go back at once; it is some mistake. I don't know what papa would say!"
"Your father!" scornfully, "as if he would meddle, and as if your wishes are not his law; besides, he knows it would be an excellent match!"
"Mrs. Creery," interrupted Helen, becoming scarlet, "please don't say such things; it's no question of—of—what you hint, but of this piano. What does it mean?"
"It's the thin end of the wedge, that's what it means."
"It shall go back!"
"Well, here it comes now at any rate," said the elder lady triumphantly, as the chanting, thin-legged bearers came staggering along under the heavy piece of furniture, with its wadded red cover; and a big, bearded butler presented a note with a profound salaam.
"Wait!" cried Helen, making an imperative gesture, tearing the envelope open. "Don't bring it up yet."
"What's all this?" inquired her father, appearing upon the scene at this juncture.
"A piano for your daughter from Mr. Quentin," volunteered Mrs. Creery with infinite gusto.