"I should be a most hopeless muff if I hadn't learned something!" said her cousin. "But you needn't be afraid to light the lamp, Hilda. You will see the ostrich, or the giraffe, or the kangaroo, whichever you prefer. But first I must thank Miss Merryweather for playing so delightfully. You have played with the violin before, of course? I felt that instantly."
There was no reply; for Bell, feeling simply, desperately, that she must get away, must relieve the two cousins of her presence, since it could not by any possibility be welcome, had seen her moment, and slipped quietly out while Hildegarde was busy with the lamp.
The light sprang up, and both looked eagerly round.
"Why, she is gone!" cried Jack. "I say! And I never thanked her. What an idiot she must think me!"
"She thought nothing of the sort," said Hildegarde. "She is the most modest, unselfish creature in the world, and she thought we would rather be without her. I know her!"
"Well, I suppose she was right," yet Hildegarde fancied a shade of regret in his hearty tone; "anyhow, she is a brick, isn't she?"
"How would you define a brick?" asked Hildegarde, demurely.
"A musician," said Jack, emphatically; "and a—a good fel—Oh, well, you know what I mean, Hilda! And isn't it pretty hard, now, when a fellow has been away two years, that he should come back and have the girl of his heart begin to tease him within five minutes? Oh, I say, Hilda, how well you're looking! You have grown prettier; I didn't suppose you could grow prettier. Would you mind shaking hands again?"
Hildegarde held out her hand gladly, and laughed and blushed when her cousin raised it to his lips in the graceful European fashion.
"You have learned something besides violin-playing, Jack," she said. "If any one had proposed your kissing hands two years ago, what would you have done?"