She smiled brightly, and answered it on the instant.
He asked another, and soon they were in a lively controversy, which was like Choctaw to poor Mattie, who was anxious to get home.
“Do you speak any other language? Can you speak Italian?”
“A piacere,” Brownie responded, in liquid tones, which, being interpreted, means, “at pleasure.”
“And German?”
“I will not say I can speak it as fluently as the others, although I understand it, and can read at sight in the language. But its guttural tones never had that attraction for me that the more musical languages of Italy and France have.”
“Are you musical?” demanded the old man, abruptly, after a few moments’ thought.
“Yes, sir, I am passionately fond of music,” returned Brownie, becoming somewhat embarrassed at being so closely questioned.
“I fear you think I am very presuming, my young friend,” he said, noticing her confusion, “but I have a very particular reason for asking you these questions; and now, if you care to humor an old man, will you come into the music-room yonder and let me hear you play a little?”
Brownie had ached to get hold of a piano ever since leaving her dear old home, yet she shrank from displaying her accomplishments in so public a place.