"But, my lady, where are you going?" cried Elise.
"To the drawing-room," curtly.
"You'll catch your death of cold," whimpered the maid.
"What is that to you?" flashed the dowager, sharply. "Come along."
And clinging to the arm of Elise, and groaning at every step with the reawakened pain in her shoulder, Lady Lancaster took up her march to the drawing-room, her flowered gown trailing majestically behind her, going forth as one goes to conquer, for she was intent on the instant and utter annihilation, metaphorically speaking, of the daring plebeian child who had so coolly transgressed her commands.
Leonora had never got beyond the picture-gallery and the drawing-room. The great, black, ebony piano had fascinated her. She could not tear herself away.
"Oh, Aunt West, my fingers ache to touch the keys!"
"Can you play, dear?" asked her aunt, with one of her kind, indulgent smiles.
"Only let me show you," said the girl. "There is no one to hear, is there, aunt?"