To-day he was not at the window; but his lady-love had hardly time to be conscious of disappointment, when she saw him lounging in the doorway down-stairs. He came listlessly out as the carriage drew up, and at the same moment Miss Lily Carthusen appeared from a shop near by, and joined them. This young lady took a good deal of exercise in the open air, and might be met almost any time, and always with the latest news to tell.
“I congratulate you both,” she said, in her sprightliest manner. “That dreadful organist of yours has put his wrist out of joint, and cannot play again for a month or two. Isn’t it delightful?” She laughed elfishly. “Haven’t you heard of it? Oh! yes; it is true. It happened this morning when he came down the dark stairway in his boarding-house. He tumbled against the dear old balusters, and put his wrist out. I never before knew the good of dark stairways.”
“Why, Lily! aren’t you ashamed?” remonstrated Miss Ferrier, smiling faintly.
“Do you think I ought to be ashamed?” inquired Miss Lily, with an ingenuous expression in her large, light-blue eyes.
“Yes; I do,” replied Miss Ferrier, much edified.
“Well, then, I won’t,” was the satisfactory conclusion.
“I am sorry for Mr. Glover,” Miss Ferrier remarked gravely.
“Now, my dear mademoiselle, please don’t be so crushingly good!” cried the other. “You know perfectly well that he plays execrably, and spoils the singing of your beautiful choir; and you know that you would be perfectly delighted if F. Chevreuse would pension him off. Don’t try to look grieved, for you can’t.”
“I don’t pretend to be a saint, Miss Carthusen,” said Annette, dropping her eyes.
“And I don’t pretend to be a sinner,” was the mocking retort.