He paused, and Mrs. Holland regarded him with a faint smile. His manner was apologetic, but he was pleased with himself. His hand was raised to his mustache,[Pg 414] and he was looking down at the floor with a modest air.
“Thing is,” he went on, “she wants to be a musician. She’s studied, but—present circumstances—family had to sell their piano last month. That’s pretty hard, isn’t it, my dear?”
“Oh, very,” murmured Mrs. Holland.
“She said that when she saw the piano here, she couldn’t keep her hands off it. That’s hard luck, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
Again he paused for some time.
“I’m afraid,” he said, “that I—well, that perhaps you won’t approve—”
“Why? What did you do?”
“On the spur of the moment, my dear—”
“What was it, Frank?” Madeline demanded, with a trace of impatience.