Laura rose and went to the piano, where she conducted the song to a successful ending.
Mrs. Strachey looked relieved. "Very nice indeed." And to Laura: "Did you say you didn't know it, dear?"
"No, I never saw it before."
Again the lady looked doubtful. "Well, perhaps you would play us something yourself now?"
Laura had no objection; she had played to people before her fingers were long enough to cover the octave. She took the volume of Thalberg she had brought with her, selected "Home, Sweet Home", and pranced in.
Her audience kept utter silence; but, had she been a little sharper, she would have grasped that it was the silence of amazement. After the prim sonatinas that had gone before, Thalberg's florid ornaments had a shameless sound. Her performance, moreover, was a startling one; the forte pedal was held down throughout; the big chords were crashed and banged with all the strength a pair of twelve-year-old arms could put into them; and wrong notes were freely scattered. Still, rhythm and melody were well marked, and there was no mistaking the agility of the small fingers.
Dead silence, too, greeted the conclusion of the piece Several girls were very red, from trying not to laugh. The Principal tugged at his moustache, in abstracted fashion.
Laura had reached her seat again before Mrs. Strachey said undecidedly: "Thank you, dear. Did you ... hm ... learn that piece here?"
Laura saw nothing wrong. "Oh, no, at home," she answered. "I wouldn't care to play the things I learn here, to people. They're so dull."
A girl emitted a faint squeak. But a half turn of Mrs. Strachey's head subdued her. "Oh, I hope you will soon get to like classical music also," said the lady gravely, and in all good faith. "We prefer it, you know, to any other."