10
Miss Holland sat, flushed with talk, quietly but quite evidently summoning composure; as nearly flustered as it was possible for her to be.
“How tall those women are,” said Miriam, still intent on the group behind.
“I did not introduce them,” replied Miss Holland, busying herself, with downcast eyes, amongst the flowered tea-cups. “I—well—I thought——” her deprecating tone collapsed into a murmur and rose again, recovering. “Yes, they are tall, both mother and daughter.”
“Astounding. I thought they were sisters.”
“Their name is Wheeler. It is a most interesting story.”
Nothing about Americans could be really interesting. But Miss Holland, without looking up, was launched upon her narrative.
“They are from San Antonio in Texas. The child Estella is just fifteen years of age. Yes, it is remarkable. A warmer clime, I suppose. Still it is very remarkable. Her grandmother was Spanish. And that perhaps may account for her exceptional temperament. She is a musician. The ’cello. They have travelled to London for her training. It seems that her teachers at home were obliged to confess they could do nothing further for her.”
“Why not Germany?”
“Well, that is just it. The reason for their coming to London is the strangest part of the story. It seems that there is a Pole, a celebrated ’cellist. The child heard him once, years ago, in New York, and has been saying ever since that he is the only man in the world who can teach her. He, it appears, is giving performances in London this winter. So they have come. The child thinks of nothing else. For the moment she is at the Philharmonic Academy. She dislikes it. I am sincerely sorry for her mother. She is most courageous; and so wise. Insists on physical culture. Very wise. Skipping and so on. At a gymnasium. The great trouble at the moment is that it now appears that the Pole takes no pupils. Also that they are not too well off. Estella, however, is determined to see him.”