"I don't often sing, except for Joy," I mumbled; "I've had so few lessons."
"Joy doesn't know her joys; but—wouldn't she share them?"
"Sometime—perhaps—"
I couldn't answer him, for hot and cold waves of shyness and pleasure were running over me. Oh, I hope, for Milly's sake, he doesn't dislike me. He seems to feel so intensely, to be so alive!
When he had gone, I went to the dining-room with Aunt Marcia, and found there Ethel and the General and Peggy Van Dam, the General's cousin, a pale girl, all eyes and teeth. Kitty was with them, and she darted towards me, but Mrs. Van Dam was before her.
"Sit down, both of you," she commanded.
She fairly put us into chairs, and brought us cups of something—I don't know what.
Aunt Marcia breathed a little sigh of relief.
"Helen," she said, "you haven't been standing too long?"
"It wasn't an instant! I could stand all day!"