'I know you always object to sing without some musical preparation,' said Mrs. Rossall, as she took a seat by the girl's side. 'I wonder whether we ought to close the windows; are you afraid of the air?'
'Oh, leave them open!' Beatrice replied. 'It is so close.'
Her cheeks had a higher colour than usual; she lay back in the chair with face turned upwards, her eyes dreaming.
'You are tired, I am afraid,' Mrs. Rossall said, 'in spite of your sleep in the hammock. The first day in the country always tires me dreadfully.'
'Yes, I suppose I am, a little,' murmured Beatrice.
'Not too tired, I hope, to sing,' said Wilfrid, coming from his couch in the corner to a nearer seat. His way of speaking was not wholly natural; like his attitude, it had something constrained; he seemed to be discharging a duty.
'Observe the selfishness of youth,' remarked Mr. Athel.
'Age, I dare say, has its selfishness too in the present instance,' was Mrs. Rossall's rejoinder.
'To whom does that refer?' questioned her brother, jocosely.
Beatrice turned her head suddenly towards Emily.