“Something wrong with my eyes! But there isn’t, is there? They are all right?” cried Edna in alarm, opening the maligned eyes to about twice their usual size, and staring at Norah in beseeching fashion. “How could he say anything so untrue!”
“I never said there was anything ‘wrong.’ I was very particular how I put it. I said there was ‘something’ about your eyes, and that you were sensitive about meeting strangers, and did not like to be stared at. All quite true, isn’t it? It’s not my fault if Norah chose to think you squinted,” declared Rex, jetting the best of the argument as usual, and nodding his head at Norah with the air of triumph which she found so exasperating.
Edna looked from one to the other in startled fashion, as though she were afraid that such flashing looks must be the commencement of a quarrel, and drew a sigh of relief when Norah’s dignity gave way to giggles of uncontrollable amusement.
The Squire made his appearance at the luncheon table, an irascible-looking old gentleman, with red, weather-beaten face, grey hair, and fierce white whiskers sticking out on either side. The ribbons on his wife’s cap trembled every time he spoke to her, and she said, “Yes, love, yes!” and “No, love, no!” to everything he said, as if afraid to differ from him on any subject. Norah jumped on her seat the first time he spoke to her, for his voice sounded so loud and angry. He said, “I am afraid you have had a cold drive,” in much the same tone as that in which the villain on the stage would cry—“Base villain, die a thousand deaths!” and when he called for mustard, the very rafters seemed to ring. “What on earth must he be like when he is really angry, if he is like this when he is pleased?” asked Norah of herself; but there was something in the Squire’s keen, blue eyes which took her fancy, despite his fierceness, and she noticed that when he spoke to his little daughter his face softened, while each time that she coughed, he knitted his brows and stared at her with undisguised anxiety. Edna was evidently his darling, and her delicate health the cause of much anxiety.
At two o’clock the two girls ensconced themselves behind the window curtains and exchanged confidences while watching for the first appearance of the Professor from Lancaster. Edna told Norah about the school which she left; how grieved she had been to say good-bye to her friends, and how sadly she missed their bright society, and Norah comforted her in warm-hearted fashion. “Never mind, I am coming every fortnight, and when the bright days are here you will be able to drive over and see us. I hope you will like me, for I think I shall like you very much indeed, in spite of your eyes.” Then they pinched each other, and crouched together with “Oh’s!” and “Ah’s!” of excitement, as a small, wiry figure came hurrying towards the house. It was Mr Morris, of course, but the collar of his coat was turned up and his hat pulled over his face, so that it was impossible to tell what he was really like. Only one thing was certain—he had neither a white nor a black beard, as Mr Rex had predicted.
“Let me have the first lesson! He won’t think I am so bad if he hears me first,” pleaded Edna; and at the end of an hour she came out of the drawing-room, to announce that Mr Morris was rather terrible, but that she was sure he was a good teacher, and that she had not been so frightened as she expected. Then it was Norah’s turn. She played her favourite pieces, one after the other, while Mr Morris sat at the edge of the table, watching and listening. Never a word of praise or blame did he say until she had finished the third selection. Then he looked at her fixedly with his light, grey eyes (they were rather goggled, after all!), and said quietly, “Well, and what do you mean to do?”
“Mean to do? I—I don’t think I understand.”
“Are you content to be a young lady amateur who plays well enough to entertain her friends in her own drawing-room, or do you mean to work seriously, and make a first-rate performer? You can do as you like. You have the talent. It is for yourself to decide.”
Norah’s face was a study in its raptured excitement. “Oh–oh!” she cried breathlessly, “I’ll work—I don’t care how hard I work! I love it so much. I want to do my very, very best.”
“Then I’ll work too, and do all I can to help you!” said Mr Morris in return. He jumped off the table as he spoke, and advanced towards her, rubbing his hands as one who prepares for a pleasant task. “Now then!” he cried; and for the next hour Norah was kept hard at work, with never another word of praise, but with many sharp corrections and reminders to call attention to hitherto unsuspected faults. She was radiantly happy, nevertheless, for the first step towards correcting a fault was to discover its existence, and what was the good of a teacher who did not point out what was wrong? At four o’clock Mr Morris took his departure, and Norah found that Edna had retired to her room to rest, as was her custom every afternoon. Mrs Freer was also invisible, but Rex came to join her in the drawing-room, looking particularly cheerful and self-satisfied.