Ella swallowed down one or two tears before replying.
“I am happy here,” she said. “I am always happy with dear godmother. I wish, Sir Philip, you would let me forget about home troubles for a little. I think you might—you are going away soon to amuse yourself; you needn’t grudge me my little bit of holiday.”
Philip grew more and more annoyed.
“I have done no good, I see,” he said in a tone of vexation. “Indeed I have done harm—for I have made you indignant with me for meddling. I wish to goodness—” but here he stopped.
“What?” said Ella, gently.
“I wish you were Miss Wyndham, or Miss Anybody except what you are,” he said petulantly. “You will now always be thinking I am ‘taking parts,’ or some nonsense of that kind.”
“No—I don’t want to think that,” she replied glancing up at him half shyly with a sort of deprecation in her lovely eyes.
“Thank you—thank you for saying that,” he replied eagerly. “Indeed you would be doing me the greatest injustice if you—” but at that moment as he was bending towards Ella, speaking though earnestly, in a lower tone than usual, a voice interrupted them. It was that of Miss St Quentin, who had risen from the piano.
“Ella,” she said in her quiet, impassive way, “I want you to take Ermine’s part in that duet that she and I have just got. I am sure you can manage it.”
Ella rose at once, though without speaking.