“I never played much. I was not fond of it,” was Alice’s answer, while her father rejoined quickly:
“Then you keep a piano. I did not know you had one.”
“Oh, yes, father bought it for me at auction, three years ago, and as he was not owing any one then, our furniture was not disturbed.”
The blind man sighed, while Alice dropped a tear on the vest she was making, as she thought of the difference between herself and Adelaide, who paused as she reached the door, and asked if she knew Mr. Howland.
“I sew for his store,” said Alice, and Adelaide continued:
“Isn’t he a splendid man?”
Alice did not know whether he was splendid or not—she had never observed his looks particularly, she said; but she knew he was very kind, and she liked nothing better than to have him come there evenings, as he often did.
“Come here often!” exclaimed Adelaide, her voice indicating the pang with which a feeling of jealousy had been brought to life.
Before Alice could reply there was a footstep outside, and the blind man, whose quick ear caught the sound, said joyfully:
“He’s coming now.”