"Here, papa," handing him the note, "what am I to say?"
"You will have to keep it for the present, I suppose," he answered rather reluctantly, as he glanced over the missive; "you will have one of your own soon."
Mr. Quentin's note ran as follows:—
"Dear Miss Denis,—Please do not be alarmed at the size of the accompanying package, nor angry with me for my temerity in sending it; the piano is going to pieces over here, with no one to play on or look after it, and the hot winds on Aberdeen are ruination to an instrument. You will be conferring a great favour on me, if you will give it room, and honour me by making use of it, until the arrival of your own. I will crave permission to bring over a few songs, and we might have a little practice occasionally. If possible, I shall come across this afternoon.
"Yours very sincerely,
"JAMES QUENTIN."
Of course, when the matter was put in the light of a favour to be conferred, there was nothing for it but to allow the instrument to be brought in, and lodged in the drawing-room.
Helen received the open note somewhat mechanically from her father, and will it be believed, that Mrs. Creery actually held out her hand for the missive—just as if it were quite a matter of course, that she should peruse it also?
Peruse it she did, and so slowly, that one would imagine that she was committing it to memory; then she folded it up and returned it to Helen, saying rather tartly, "So you are going to keep it, after all?"
"Yes! I suppose so."