'A love song it is—but twaddle, you know,' replied Annot, turning quickly the leaves of her music.
'Twaddle—how?'
'About marrying for love only and not money, Hester. That is an old-fashioned prejudice which is fast dying out, mamma tells me. Thank Heaven I am poor!' she added, with a pretty shrug of her shoulders.
'Why?' asked Hester.
'Because, when poor, one knows one is loved for self alone.'
The reply was made in a soft voice to Hester, yet her upward glance was shot at Roland Lindsay, and she began a piece of music that was certainly somewhat confused, while he—sorely puzzled—was kept on duty turning over the leaves.
'Annot, I thought you were a finished performer!' said Hester with some surprise and pique.
'I was taught like other girls at Madame Raffineur's finishing school in Belgium; and I can get through a piece, as it is called, without many stoppages, though I often forget upon what key I am playing, and use the pedals too at haphazard, yet they are beyond my skill; but I find that whatever I play——'
'Even a noise?' suggested Hester.
'Yes, even a noise, while it lasts, puts down all conversation, and when it is over everyone graciously says, "Thanks—so much!" "Do I sing?" is next asked, but I mean to practise so sedulously when I return to London.'