"A grand piano?"
"That is it, exactly."
Thomasina hazarded the name of the best by way of elimination.
"That is it," said Mrs. Bent. "If you will pick it out when you go to the city, the money part will be fixed. It is a Commencement present to her."
Mrs. Bent rose to go. She was invited to stay longer, and she would have liked to sit forever in the pleasant room, but she was afraid. When she had gone, Thomasina stood for a moment frowning, then bit her lip. She wondered a good deal about Mrs. Bent, and she was to wonder still more when she saw the large check in the hand of the salesman in Baltimore from whose stock she selected the finest piano. Not only the amount, but the signature of the check astonished her.
The piano, now at the railroad station upon its side, its shining rosewood swathed in many folds of flannel and canvas and rubber, was to be delivered while Eleanor was at Commencement. If she had dreamed of its presence, her cheeks would have been still redder, her shining eyes still happier. She laid her black gown over her arm and took her black cap by its tassel.
"Get your bonnet, mother."
A glance at the clock frightened Mrs. Bent. Eleanor should be off at once or she would meet the men with the piano. Mrs. Bent had given explicit charges as to the time of its delivery. She was to let the carriers, whose chief she knew to be trustworthy, into the house before she started.
"I'm not ready yet. You go quick, and I'll come right away."