"I wonder," Amy suggested shyly after a little while, "if perhaps a little music wouldn't help out. Won't you play for us, Betty?"
"Oh, Betty, please!" Grace took up the suggestion eagerly. "It would take our minds off ourselves."
"Yes, do, Betty. You know you never refuse," urged Mollie, jumping up and escorting the Little Captain to the piano.
Betty obediently sat down to the piano, but her fingers wandered over the keys uncertainly. She did not want to play. Music, good music, always roused in her a feeling of exquisite sadness, a pain that was akin to joy, and in her present mood she was afraid to play.
But the girls had asked her to, and if it would make them feel any better—
She struck a chord of exquisite harmony, and every fibre in her seemed yearningly to respond. She had meant to play something bright and cheerful, but almost against her will her fingers wandered into Grieg's "To Spring."
The elusive, plaintive melody floated throbbingly out into the room, while the girls sat motionless, fascinated. They had never heard Betty play just this way before, and instinctively they knew that she was showing them her heart.
She played it through to the last whispering note, then dropped her head upon her arms and sobbed as though her heart would break.
"You shouldn't have asked me," she said, when they tried to comfort her. "I knew I couldn't play without making a f-fool of myself. It was the one—Allen loved best—" the last words so low that they had to bend close to hear them.
"Poor little Betty!" cried Mollie, stroking her hair gently. "It was selfish of us to ask you, but you did play it wonderfully," she added with a sudden little burst of enthusiasm. "You had us all hypnotized."