Violet saw it, and instantly the lines about her own mouth grew firmer and more resolute.
"She thinks to tire me out and gain her point," she said to herself, "but I am going to settle who is to rule, once for all, for if I cannot have her respectful obedience it will be useless for me to remain here."
She arose and passed into her own room, but presently returned bringing with her a dainty little basket in which there lay some fancy-work and bright flosses.
Resuming her seat by the window, she busied herself with her embroidery, apparently oblivious of the fact that there was any one else in the room.
The hour that followed was tedious in the extreme to both teacher and pupil, for not one single word was spoken during that time.
When the clock struck ten—the hour generally devoted to music—Violet arose, and, going to the piano, began to play.
Instantly Bertha's chubby hands went up to her ears again, but her young teacher, without appearing to notice the movement, kept on, and did a faithful half-hour's practice for herself.
Then she began to sing a sweet little ballad which she had learned soon after her mother's death. It was plaintive, and told the story of a lonely little heart longing for mother-love, and she had not reached the end of the second verse when she saw the tears streaming over Bertha's little face, and knew that her wedge had entered the obstinate little soul.
Still she pretended to ignore her, keeping on with her song until she had finished it, then she went back to her work in the window.
Presently a timid, somewhat uncertain voice said: