His eyes add an emphasis to that reply which is not to be mistaken. Emily turns away from him, and notices Francine. She has left the dance, and is looking with marked attention at Emily and Mirabel. “I want to speak to you,” she says, and beckons impatiently to Emily.
Mirabel whispers, “Don’t go!”
Emily rises nevertheless—ready to avail herself of the first excuse for leaving him. Francine meets her half way, and takes her roughly by the arm.
“What is it?” Emily asks.
“Suppose you leave off flirting with Mr. Mirabel, and make yourself of some use.”
“In what way?”
“Use your ears—and look at that girl.”
She points disdainfully to innocent Miss Plym. The rector’s daughter possesses all the virtues, with one exception—the virtue of having an ear for music. When she sings, she is out of tune; and, when she plays, she murders time.
“Who can dance to such music as that?” says Francine. “Finish the waltz for her.”
Emily naturally hesitates. “How can I take her place, unless she asks me?”