"Yes. Nothing so very first-rate though," said Harriet, thinking of Lucy, who played in a pleasing style, but nothing more, on the harp and piano.
"Oh! you are too modest," said Mr. Gage.
"Thank you," said Harriet laughing. "Do you think me then such a very good player?"
"Can you never be serious?" said Mr. Gage, turning away reproachfully.
Harriet laughed more merrily than before at the tone of this last remark. Margaret watched them earnestly. Surely, she thought, this last evening something will be said, something will occur, to bring about an understanding. Harriet will surely not be able to keep up this appearance of indifference to the last.
But the tapers were brought in, people wished each other good night, and Harriet touched Mr. Gage's fingers, and bade him good bye, as if she should see him to-morrow. And the next day, before he had left his room, she was on her way to join her friends at Wardenscourt.
CHAPTER XIV.
Her words were like a stream of honey fleeting,
The which doth softly trickle from the hive,
Able to melt the hearer's heart unweeting
And eke to make the dead again alive.