I may look on her with different eyes, like the Choragus of an old play, and wonder and speculate which it is she likes—the flattery or the lover—or each for the sake of the other; or the flattery only, caring not that bullfinch’s feather on the carpet for him? There is not much in her face to guide me; I can only see, for certain, that she is pleased.
“I shall never forget those airs; you sang them the first time I heard you sing; and I’m afraid I have been awfully unreasonable about them, asking you to sing them for me every time nearly I had an opportunity; and I—I assure you—I don’t know what I shall do without my poor bird; and⸺”
Exactly at this point Aunt Dinah returned, and Mr. Vane Trevor, with admirable presence of mind, said:
“I was just saying to Miss Darkwell, I am sure I have heard her sing those little songs the bird whistles.”
“So she does,” interrupted Miss Perfect. “I could not think where I heard them. You know those airs, Vi?”
“Yes—I think they are among my songs,” answered Violet, carelessly.
“It would be very good of you, Miss Perfect—now that I’ve parted with my musician, you know—if you would allow me—just perhaps once before I leave Revington—I shall be away probably some months—to look in some evening, when Miss Darkwell is at her music—it is very impertinent, I’m afraid, to ask—but knowing those airs so well, I should like so much to hear them sung, if you happened to be able to find them.” The concluding words were to Violet.
“Oh, dear yes—won’t you, Vi?—certainly, any evening, we shall be very happy; but you know we are very early people, and our tea hour seven o’clock.”
“Oh, quite delightful,” exclaimed the accommodating Vane Trevor. “I have no hours at all at Revington—when I’m alone there, I just eat when I’m hungry and sleep when I’m sleepy.”
“The certain way to lose your health!” exclaimed Miss Perfect.