“Yes,” he responded uneasily, “but suppose someone else should tell you; some stranger, for instance. It would not be good form to agree with a stranger’s opinion.”
“Thank you, cousin; you are very thoughtful, and I mean it for your comfort when I suggest that a stranger will not be at all likely to comment upon my beauty in my presence. That bridge is so far out of my latitude there is not the least danger of my having to cross it.”
“You are so indifferent to me and my opinions. Cousin Hilda! You keep me quite out of spirits.”
“I do not wish that; instead, I hope to see you in your very best spirits this evening, and willing to charm us with your choicest pieces on piano and mandolin. I wish I were the accomplished musician you are. You cast me in the shade.”
“You will soon surpass me. Professor Ballini remarked the last time that he went back to Springfield in the train with me that ‘Meesh Heelda haf ze exqueesite taalent for ze moozique; she is one woondare.’”
Fred was a good mimic. Hilda laughed heartily at the expression of face and tone of voice assumed for the occasion.
“Oh, Fred, I hope I won’t think of you when I take my next lesson!” she said, wiping away tears of mirth with her handkerchief.
“You never wish to think of me; I am only Cousin Fred to you.”
“Oh, yes, I do think of you, and am grateful for it is you who merit the praise for any progress I have made in music. You gave me such thorough instruction in the rudiments that my progress could not fail in pleasing Signor Ballini. You have been very kind to me.”
“Then why not show a little interest in me? You know that I care for no one but you!”