“Oh, Mrs. Baines, do you really think so?” Ethel Dunlop exclaimed.
“Certainly I do.” And Mrs. Baines turned her back. “Florence, are not you of my opinion?”
“Well, Aunt Anne, I hardly know——” And happily the entrance of the men prevented any further discussion. Somehow conversation flagged a little, and silence threatened to fall on the party. Florence felt uneasy.
“Are we to have some music?” Walter asked presently. In these days music after dinner, unless it is very excellent or there is some special reason for introducing it, is generally a flag of distress, a sign that dulness is near. Florence knew it, and looking at Ethel tried to cover it by asking for a song.
“Ethel sings German songs delightfully, Aunt Anne,” she said; “I think you would enjoy listening to her.”
“I should enjoy listening to any friend of yours,” the old lady answered. But Miss Dunlop pleaded hoarseness and did not stir.
Mr. Wimple roused himself a little. “I am sure Mrs. Baines plays,” he said, standing before her. Aunt Anne gave a long sigh.
“My playing days are over,” she answered.
“Oh no, Aunt Anne,” laughed Walter, “we cannot allow you to make that excuse.”
In a moment she had risen.