She drew away to hide her tears and left the room on pretence of inspecting the house. She looked into the dining-room and kitchen and opened the cupboards, and when she returned there were no visible signs of trouble in her face.
"It's a cute little house, isn't it?" she said. "I've always wanted a little place like this—all to ourselves. Oh, if you only knew how tired I am of New York and its great ugly houses, its retinue of servants and its domestic and social responsibilities! We shall be able to live for ourselves now, eh, father?"
She spoke with a forced gaiety that might have deceived anyone but the judge. He understood the motive of her sudden change in manner and silently he blessed her for making his burden lighter.
"Yes, dear, it's not bad," he said. "There's not much room, though."
"There's quite enough," she insisted. "Let me see." She began to count on her fingers. "Upstairs—three rooms, eh? and above that three more—"
"No," smiled the judge, "then comes the roof?"
"Of course," she laughed, "how stupid of me—a nice gable roof, a sloping roof that the rain runs off beautifully. Oh, I can see that this is going to be awfully jolly—just like camping out. You know how I love camping out. And you have a piano, too."
She went over to the corner where stood one of those homely instruments which hardly deserve to be dignified by the name piano, with a cheap, gaudily painted case outside and a tin pan effect inside, and which are usually to be found in the poorer class of country boarding houses. Shirley sat down and ran her fingers over the keys, determined to like everything.
"It's a little old," was her comment, "but I like these zither effects. It's just like the sixteenth-century spinet. I can see you and mother dancing a stately minuet," she smiled.
"What's that about mother dancing?" demanded Mrs. Rossmore, who at that instant entered the room. Shirley arose and appealed to her: