As he did not smile or speak very kindly, Chris found it impossible to obey. She thought, indeed, that the command was given ironically.
“I—I was only trying a few bars. I—I am very sorry I disturbed you. But I didn’t know you could hear. I thought you were deaf,” stammered Chris.
Mr. Bradfield looked up at her with a slight frown. No man approaching fifty cares to be reminded, especially by a pretty young woman, of the infirmities which must inevitably overtake him before many years are over.
“Deaf! Thought I was deaf? Pray what made you think that?”
“Well,” said Chris, “mother and I both thought you must be, because she so often knocks at your study door, and you don’t hear her.”
Mr. Bradfield’s countenance cleared, and a twinkle appeared in his eyes.
“Oh! ah! No; very likely not.” Then he chuckled to himself, and added good-humouredly, “Your mother’s a joke, isn’t she?”
Chris was taken aback, and for the first moment she could make no answer. So Mr. Bradfield went on:
“Of course, I don’t mean anything at all disrespectful to the old lady. She makes a splendid head of a household; servants say she’s a regular tar—er—er—a regular darling. But, well, she’s a trifle chilling, now, isn’t she?”
“My mother is not very effusive in her manners towards people she doesn’t know very well,” answered Chris, with some constraint.