“And that was August, and now it’s February!” he exclaimed. “It must be psychological, you know. You make it come—the smart; you invoke it.”
She looked up at him, suddenly cold.
“I! I never think of it,” she answered briefly, with a kind of sneer.
The young man’s blood ran back from her at her acid tone. But the mortification was physical only. Smiling quickly, gently—”
“Never?” he re-echoed.
There was silence between them for some moments, whilst Louisa continued to play the piano for their benefit. At last:
“Drat it,” she exclaimed, flouncing round on the piano-stool.
The two looked up at her.
“Ye did run well—what hath hindered you?” laughed Byrne.
“You!” cried Louisa. “Oh, I can’t play any more,” she added, dropping her arms along her skirt pathetically. Helena laughed quickly.