‘But I am not at all a virtuosa. I don’t know. I was a child, too, when I used to be at home, and I suppose it hurts papa to come into this room. He has never been here since I came; never at all, I think, since mamma died.’
‘Does he leave you by yourself all the evening? what a shame!’ said Oswald. ‘Is he so full of sentiment as that? One never knows people. Come, Cara, if that is the case, it is clear that I must spend the evenings with you.’
Cara laughed frankly at the suggestion. She did not understand what he meant by a slight emphasis upon the pronouns, which seemed to point out some balance of duties. She said, ‘I have only been here for two evenings. The first was very dull. I had nothing to read but that book, and I was not happy. The second was last night. Oh, I am not accustomed to much company. I can be quite happy by myself, when I am used to things.’
‘That means you don’t want me,’ said Oswald; ‘but I shall come all the same. What is the book about? You don’t mean to say you understand that! What is unconscious cerebration, Cara? Good heavens! how rash I have been. Are you an F.R.S. already, like the rest of your father’s friends?’
‘I don’t know what it means,’ said Cara, ‘no more than I know about the china. But I read a chapter that first night; it was always something. You see there are very few books in this room. They have been taken away, I suppose. Nobody, except mamma, has ever lived here.’
She gave a little shiver as she spoke, and looked wistfully round. Even in the morning, with the sunshine coming in, how still it was! Oswald thought he would like to break the china, and make a human noise, over the head of the father who was sitting below, making believe to think so much of the memory of his dead wife, and neglecting his living child. The young man had a grudge against the elder one, which gave an edge to his indignation.
‘You shall have books,’ he said, ‘and company too, if you will have me, Cara: that will bring them to their senses,’ he added to himself in a half-laughing, half-angry undertone.
What did he mean? Cara had no idea. She laughed too, with a little colour starting to her face, wondering what Aunt Charity would think if she knew that Oswald meant to spend his evenings with her. Cara herself did not see any harm in it, though she felt it was a joke, and could not be.
‘You were going out,’ she said, ‘when you saw me at the window. Had you anything to do? for if you had you must not stay and waste your time with me.’
‘Why should I have anything to do?’