was thankful that she had not asked any friends to meet the girls on their first evening home from school. She determined to make herself as pleasant as possible, and not to allude to the untidy wardrobes, the gauche appearance, and the cropped heads until the following morning.
Dinner passed quickly, for all three girls were hungry; and when they retired to the drawing-room Mrs. Chetwynd suggested a little music.
“Eileen, my darling, you sing, don’t you?” she said, turning to the younger of the twins.
“Oh, dear me, no, mother; I have not the ghost of a voice,” replied Eileen.
“But I thought that your teacher, Miss Fox, spoke highly of your musical talents?”
“She said I should play well if I practiced hard; but I did not think my very moderate gift worth cultivating,” replied Eileen, yawning slightly as she spoke. “You see, unless one has genius, there is not the least use in the present day in being musical. Only genius is tolerated; and then I don’t ever mean to be ornamental. My vogue in life is the useful. The music of the ordinary school-girl, after years of toil, is merely regarded as an accomplishment, and generally as an unpleasant one; therefore I have let my music drop.”
“Dear, dear! How extraordinary of Miss Fox not to let me know,” said Mrs. Chetwynd. “Well, Marjorie, you at least play?” said her mother.
“Yes, mother,” in a somewhat solemn style. “I can give you one of Bach’s fugues, if you like.”
“Do so, my dear. I have spent a great deal of money on your music, and should like to hear the result.”
Marjorie rose, went to the piano, sat down, and began to thunder loudly. She had scarcely any taste for music, and she played several wrong notes. Mrs. Chetwynd