“No, no, Herbert, my singing is only to amuse little boys. Here’s the higher order of art!”
For Cecil was leading a young lady to the piano, and looking as if she by no means approved of such folly, though everybody had listened to the Poor Old Cockatoo, laughed and applauded heartily; and the ensuing performance seemed to be unappreciated by any one except Raymond and Cecil themselves.
Anne was sitting in a corner of the sofa, with a straight back and weary face, having been driven out into the throng by the old friends who came to sit with Mrs. Poynsett; but she brightened as Miss Bowater took a seat beside her, and accepted her inquiries for Captain Charnock far more graciously than the many which had preceded them. Was not her likeness in his album? And had he not spoken of her as one whom Anne would like?
Soon Joanna had led her to tell not only of Miles’s last letter, but of those from Glen Fraser, of which she had spoken to no one, under the impression that nobody cared. She even spoke of the excellent farm and homestead which Mr. Van Dorp wanted to sell before going to the Free State, and which her father thought would exactly suit Miles.
“Does he mean to settle there?”
“Oh, yes; he promised me to leave the navy and take me home as soon as this voyage is over,” said Anne, eagerly. “If the Salamanca only puts in for long enough, he might run up to Glen Fraser, and see Bocksfeld Stoop, and settle it all at once. I am sure he would be delighted with it, and it is only two miles from Mr. Pilgrim’s.”
“I’m afraid you can never feel this like home,” said Jenny.
“Miles wanted me to know his family, and thought I should be useful to his mother,” said Anne; “but she does not want anything I could do for her. If she has Raymond, she seems to need nobody else.”
“And have you nothing to do?”
“I have letters to write to Miles and to them all at home; and I am making a whole set of shirts and stockings for papa and the boys—it will spare mamma and Jeanie, and I have plenty of time.”