“Nice little girl,” said Mrs. Knickerbocker, kissing Cathalina’s forehead and turning away to accept the comfortable wicker chair just placed for her by the elder Philip.
“Where is Ann Maria?” asked Sylvia.
“She telephoned from Libbie’s that they are keeping her there for dinner and want Philip and Cathalina to come over as soon as possible. Elizabeth said that she would have liked them both for dinner, but would not expect you to give Philip up tonight. Louise came home yesterday. John passed his examination for the bar, as we knew, of course, he would. His Western trip, too, promises much. But Libbie can’t bear to think of his settling so far away. I judge that nobody but Juliet will see much of him for a while,—his sweetheart, Philip. Will’s knee is better and they think that no serious trouble will result. Charlotte is much better,—hives—and they are all spoiling her as usual, so Libbie says.”
Aunt Katherine herself smiled over her own varied budget of news from Elizabeth Van Ness, often known as “Cousin Libbie”, whose pleasant home was in a suburb near. Cathalina and her mother had drawn their chairs near Mrs. Knickerbocker, while Philip and his father drifted into a little conversation of their own, as Philip recounted recent events at the military school from which he had just returned.
Philip was not the too common prodigal son of a rich man. His father, fond and proud of his son and heir, had studied the boy, taking him into his confidence, and had interested him at first in the more romantic side of his business by stories about the different products and producers. Later Philip was given the opportunity to study different departments and even entrusted with a little responsibility. An allowance, small at first and increasing with the years, was made, and within this he was supposed to bring his personal expenses. To Mr. Van Buskirk’s great satisfaction, Philip was responding to this effort to fit him for responsibility, and as he went about with his father he was unconsciously absorbing much and learning to distinguish the true from the false and the honorable from the dishonorable.
“Before you go, Philip,” said Aunt Katherine after dinner, “may I have some music?”
“Certainly,” replied Philip promptly, seating himself at the piano. “What will you have, Auntie? College songs and ragtime are not in your line, are they?”
It was a pretty picture,—the beautiful room, the dark, rich wood of the piano, Philip’s glowing face and Cathalina’s smiling one, looking over the piano at her brother.
A sparkling, indefinite prelude passed gradually into a dreamy theme that suited the relaxed mood of the family. Then followed several well-known classics till Philip rose suddenly and with one hand on his heart bowed low in exaggerated concert style to Aunt Katherine, who laughed and tossed him a crimson rose with which she had been playing.
“What was that pretty thing you played first,—after your preliminaries?” she asked, as Philip sat down again and began to turn the pages of a collection of songs which Cathalina handed him.