Ephie sat back, clasped her hands behind her head, and gave a long sigh. "Yes, to the next one," she said. "Oh, if you only knew how sick I am of them, Joan! The next won't be a bit better than this. They are all alike—a whole book of them."
Johanna looked down at the little figure with the plump, white arms, and discontented expression; and she tried to find in the childish face something she had previously not seen there.
"Are you tired of studying, Ephie?" she asked. "Would you like to leave off and go away?"
"Go away from Leipzig? Where to?" Ephie did not unclasp her hands, but her eyes grew vigilant.
"Oh, there are plenty of other places, child. Dresden—or Weimar—or Stuttgart—where you could take lessons just as well. Or if you are tired of studying altogether, there is no need for you to go on with it. We can return home, any day. Sometimes, I think it would be better if we did. You have not been yourself lately, dear. I don't think you are very well."
"I not myself?—not well? What rubbish you talk, Joan! I am quite well, and wish you wouldn't tease me. I guess you want to go away yourself. You are tired of being here. But nothing shall induce me to go. I love old Leipzig. And I still have heaps to learn before I leave off studying.—I don't even know whether I shall be ready by spring. It all depends. And now, Joan, go away." She took up her violin and put it on her shoulder. "Now it's you who are wasting time. How can I practise when you stand there talking?"
Johanna was silent. But after this, she did not venture to mention Maurice's name; and she had turned to leave the room when she remembered her meeting with Mrs. Tully.
"I would rather you did not go to tea, Ephie," she ended, and then regretted having said it.
"That's another of your silly prejudices, Joan. I want to know why you feel so about Mrs. Tully. I think she's lovely. Not that I'd have gone anyway. I promised Maurice to go for a walk with him at five. I know what her 'few friends' means, too—just Boehmer, and she asks me along so people will think he comes to see me, and not her. He sits there, and twirls his moustache, and makes eyes at her, and she makes them back. I'm only for show. No, I shouldn't have gone. I can't bear Boehmer. He's such a goat."
"You didn't think that as long as he came to see us," expostulated Johanna.