"Mother means to make the best of it," thought Marion.
The afternoon brought Amity again, with two of her children—a tall girl just coming to the awkward and opinionated age of fourteen and a solemn little boy of five, who betook himself to Aunt Eugenia for a story, while Bessy began to put Marion through a catechism as to her school, her studies, and her accomplishments, ending with,—
"Did you learn music?"
"No," answered Marion. "We had no piano. I believe I am to begin now."
"Oh, you are a great deal too old to begin now, I should say," remarked Bessy. "You know people who want to play well should begin before their hands are formed. I would keep on with drawing if I were you. Cousin Helen draws beautifully."
"And do you play well?" asked Marion, trying to turn the fire of questions on her adversary.
"Tolerably, considering," was the cool reply. "I can't play like Harry or Stannie, of course, but perhaps I shall. Stannie is going abroad some day to finish her musical education—to Stuttgart or some of those places, you know, where the advantages are so superior."
Marion did not know anything about it, but she would not have said so for a good deal. She could not even remember at the moment where Stuttgart was.
"And who is Stannie?" she asked, again.
"Oh, she's Cousin Helen's daughter, Stanley Andrews. There wasn't any boy, you see, and so she was named for her father. She is at school in Round Spring, but she always comes here for her vacation. Oh, you'll like Stannie. I assure you I'm quite jealous, the boys think so much of her."