Presently Ralph rose slowly and growled low, but not in an unfriendly way. Indeed, he was wagging his tail. Peggy looked quickly round, for a gentle hand was laid upon her shoulder.
“Dear child,” said a white-haired, kindly-faced, elderly lady who stood over her, “will you oblige me by playing that air again and singing the song? It is an old, old favourite of mine. I will sit beside your noble hound.”
Peggy had been used to encores all her life, or ever since she had joined the Wandering Minstrels, so she readily complied. When she looked about again, she noticed that tears had been falling over the lady’s face. But these were quickly dried.
“Thank you, dear. Thank you, Thalassaine. You see I know your name. What is on your shoulder, child? You are smoothing it with one finger.”
Then the truth flashed upon Peggy’s mind. This gentle-faced lady, with hair like the winter’s snow, was partially blind.
“Oh, dear lady,” she said, soothingly, and laying her tiny hand on hers, “are you—I mean, don’t you see quite well?”
“But,” she added, before she could receive an answer, “this is my pet chameleon. Johnnie baptised him Kammie. He never speaks nor makes a single sound, but he is quiet in all his ways, and so droll that—well, I think Johnnie and I have grown fond of him.”
“Who is Johnnie?”
“Oh, Johnnie is—just Johnnie.”
“Naturally, but——”