“She took quite a fancy to Tom last night,” said Dick. “But I had great trouble inducing Tom to let me present him to her. I think I showed some tact in excusing him by letting the lady know that he had buried his heart under the bridge of his fiddle.”
“You did not tell me that she is devoted to music—to the fiddle,” said Tom.
“’Tis the first I heard of it,” said Dick. “I have heard of some of her devotions, but the fiddle was not among the number.”
“You probably never took the trouble to find out, and she is not the sort of lady to obtrude her talents on an unwilling ear,” said Tom.
“Oh!” remarked Dick.
“She is not such a lady,” continued Tom. “But the truth is that she possesses a fine and elevated judgment on musical matters.”
“That means that she praised your playing up to the skies,” suggested Polly. “I have not lived in the house with musicians all these years to no purpose.”
Betsy and Dick laughed; but Tom ignored their laughter as well as Polly’s rudeness.
“I knew what a mind she had when she gave me her opinion on Handel last night,” said he. “‘Handel spent all his life building cathedrals,’ were her words.”
“And somebody else’s words, I daresay, before they descended to her,” remarked Polly. “But they are not true; at least, I never heard of Handel’s building any cathedral. Let us count all the cathedrals in England, and you’ll very soon see——”