'The harp!' repeated Lady Myrtle, half-absently; 'no, my love, I never was very musical. But your grandmother sang charmingly.' And Jacinth, believing she was launched on long-ago reminiscences, began to breathe freely, when suddenly the old lady reverted to the former topic.
'How much older than you is Honor?' she inquired.
'About three years. I think she is eighteen, but I'm not quite sure,' said Jacinth.
'I was wondering,' said Lady Myrtle, 'if she would like to come to luncheon some day when you are with me. Or is there any other among your friends you care more for?'
'No,' said Jacinth, 'I think I like Honor as much as any.'
Frances was listening with the greatest interest; her mouth half-open, her knife and fork suspended in their operations. Lady Myrtle caught sight of her absorbed face and smiled.
'Have you any friend you would like to ask to come here some day?' she said, kindly. 'If it were summer it would be different; we might have a strawberry feast.'
Frances grew crimson, painfully crimson.
'Oh how silly she is!' thought Jacinth.
'Thank you,' stammered Frances. 'I—I don't know. I don't think so.'