Hazel nodded her head quickly.
“Except your mummy, I expect,” she said calmly, and gave Frances’ hand a little squeeze.
Rosamund heard and saw her, and from thence onward she liked Hazel Tregaskis.
Cousin Bertha said:
“Well, we’ve got a piano here, and you shall hear it presently. I expect you’re fond of music, aren’t you?”
There was a silence before Frances timidly replied “Yes,” as in duty bound. She liked tunes very much herself, and she knew that Rosamund never would talk about music, and that mother had said she had no ear. But Cousin Bertha evidently expected “yes” for an answer, and Frances unconsciously felt that Cousin Bertha was one of those persons who would always receive just exactly that answer which they expect to receive.
When it grew dark they went indoors, and into the drawing-room. There was some furniture, which Cousin Bertha, who knew a great deal about furniture, said was old and very good, and an upright piano.
“Would you like me to play to you?” said Cousin Bertha. “Hazel always comes to the drawing-room for an hour before she has her supper, and we enjoy ourselves. There’ll be lots more games we can play now you two have come. But I dare say you’d rather just have a little music, to-night.”
Rosamund, the unmusical, shook her head dumbly and almost imperceptibly. But Frances, still with that hypnotic sense of having to reply whatever Cousin Bertha expected her to reply, said: “Yes, if you please.”
So Mrs. Tregaskis sat down at the piano and played without any music in front of her, some very gay and spirited tunes, and sometimes she sang in a strong, ringing voice, and called to Hazel to join in the chorus.