“To myself? Why, Uncle Fred, I am willing to play for any one. I will play to you all day if you like.”
“Thank you very much. But what I mean to suggest is, that your Sunday-scholars may be musically inclined, too, and can get as much real pleasure out of a cheap harmonium or piano as you out of your harp and violin. Why, then, should they not?”
Matilda coloured partly with vexation. “I think the cases are different,” she said.
“Yes, they are. You get your instruments without trouble, and pay for them with a ‘thank you’ or a kiss; they have to practise self-denial, and part from the weekly payments with difficulty; but if they are willing to do this, why in the world should they not? A working man has as much right to a piano in his home, if he can pay for it, as you have. Surely it is better to spend money on pianos than on beer.”
“Why, uncle, I declare you are a rabid socialist. I had no idea you were such a dangerous character!”
“And you forget one little consideration,” added Mrs. Stapleton. “The money with which these are bought has all to come out of our pockets.”
“Indeed! I had certainly not looked at the matter in that light,” replied the Doctor, and he could not altogether repress the ring of irony in his voice.
But the mistress of the house adroitly introduced a happier subject of conversation, and “Uncle Fred” resolved that he would no more give utterance to sentiments that brought a frown to his brother’s face. He enjoyed his visit very much, and especially appreciated the attention paid him by his sister-in-law, who drove a pair of beautiful ponies every day for his especial benefit.
But he could not get rid of the feeling that all was not well with Felix, who, however, vouchsafed no confidence until the last evening of Fred’s stay.
When dinner was over the master of the house playfully observed that no one would be invited to the library that night but Dr. Stapleton. It was a hint which all understood and respected.