“Now, take this down, Pina; and listen,” she added, as she pushed away the tray. “Have a very nice tea got ready—the oolong and the imperial, mixed half and half as he likes it; and make some sweet muffins; and slice that venison tongue; and open those West India sweetmeats, especially the preserved green figs and the pineapples. Do you hear?”
“Yes, madam.”
“And will you remember all?”
“Yes, madam, I will be sure to.”
Pina left the room, and her mistress resumed her practising.
She went over all his favorite pieces in turn, stopping at the end of each to go to the window, and watch and listen.
But hour after hour passed by, and still he for whom she looked came not. As night deepened, her spirits sank.
“Perhaps he will not come at all,” she said, with a sigh. “Something keeps him that he cannot help,” she added, in excuse for him.
When the clock struck ten she could hardly keep back her tears.
“He will not be home until very late, even if he comes to-night,” she said, with a deep sob, as she closed the piano and sat down by the fire.