"What is it?" she added, seeing that her cousin looked really vexed.
"Oh—nothing!" said Jack. "Nothing of any consequence. I am ready."
"But what is it?" Hildegarde repeated. "You would a great deal better tell me than look like that, for I know I have done something to vex you."
"Well—I am not used to girls, you know, Hildegarde, and perhaps I am stupid. Only—well, I was going to ask you seriously what you thought about—my music, and all that; and first you tell me to look in the glass, and then you go to catching moths and forget all about me. I suppose it's all right, only—"
He blushed, and evidently did not think it was all right. Hildegarde blushed, too, in real distress.
"My dear Jack," she cried, "how shall I tell you how sorry I am?"
She looked about for a suitable place, and then carefully set down the fly-screen with its precious contents.
"Sit down again," she cried, motioning her cousin to take his place on the fallen tree, while she did the same. "And you will not believe now how interested I really am," she said. "Mamma would never have been so stupid, nor Rose either. But you must believe me. I was thinking about you till—till I saw the Luna, and you don't know what a Luna means when one hasn't a perfect specimen. But now, tell me, do you think it would be quite impossible to persuade your uncle? Why, you must go to Leipsic, of course you must. He—has he ever heard you play, Jack?"
Jack laughed rather bitterly. "Once," he said. "He cried out that when he wanted to listen to cats with their tails tied together, he would tie them himself. Since then I always go up into the garret to practise, and shut all the doors and windows."
"What a pity! and he is so nice when one knows him. I wonder—do you know, Jack, what I am thinking of?"