Ella’s eyes sparkled.
“Do you really think I sing well? I am so pleased,” she said simply. “I know you are a good judge. Ermine told me so. She and Madelene like my singing, I think. It—it is one of the few things Madelene seems to approve of in me,” she added with bitterness that was real though she tried to say it lightly as if in jest.
Philip looked at her with grave concern in his eyes.
“Are you in earnest, Ella?” he said; “real earnest, as the children say?”
Ella gave what in a less elegant and perfectly well-bred young person might have been called “a wriggle.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.
“About your sisters you mean?” he went on. “I certainly don’t want to do so either if, as I fear, you are unfairly prejudiced against them. At least I should be sorry to hear you say anything unfair, which—which might,” but here he hesitated. “Don’t think I am setting myself up as a judge,” he went on, “but it is possible I might be able to make you see things differently. I know my cousins so well, so thoroughly, and yet I think I can see that the position of things is difficult for you all.”
“I have nothing to say against Ermine,” said Ella quickly, with a sudden access of generosity. “Ermine is very good to me—”
She glanced at Philip as she spoke: a pleased look had stolen into his eyes.
“Ah,” thought Ella.