Helen felt extremely uncomfortable. There was an undercurrent of hostility in Miss Caggett's laugh, that now struck her for the first time.
Mr. Quentin was not easily cowed, and never had any hesitation about telling what Mark Twain calls a "stretcher," and answered quite promptly,—
"I bought it from Baines; he was hard up. So you are not as wise as you imagined, Miss Caggett."
Miss Caggett did not believe a word of this. Men who come to "act" for six months, and have the use of a furnished house as a matter of course, are not likely to purchase the piano—especially when they can't play. But what was the use of speaking out her mind? For once she was prudent, and held her peace; however, she cast a glance at Mr. Quentin that said volumes, and presently she got up and went away; and, when she had departed, Mr. Quentin exclaimed,—
"How I wish that odious young woman—or middle-aged woman—would not favour us with so much of her society; her presence has a most irritating effect on my nerves."
"I thought you and she were great friends," said Helen calmly. "I am sure she told me that, at one time, you were with them every day, and dined, and boated, and sang duets with her."
"I suppose I was three times in their house—I don't know what she will say next! However," anxious to turn to another subject, "do not let us waste our time, or rather my precious time over here, on such an insignificant subject. Will you try over the accompaniment of the Wanderer?"
Mr. Quentin found himself so much out of practice that he went across to Ross for an hour's vocal exercise about four times a week. Latterly Mr. Lisle had listened with a gleam of mockery in his eye, as his companion made excuses for these frequent visits, and one day Mr. Quentin up and spake boldly,—
"You are right to laugh at my talk about books and music and new songs, when I say that they are the errands that take me over so often—of course, it's the girl herself."
"Oh, of course," sarcastically.