Whilst we talked I had heard the sound of a piano, and on entering the drawing-room found Conny alone, playing very prettily. She instantly jumped up when she saw her father and me. I begged her to keep her place, but she refused.
“Do you play?” she asked.
“A waltz or two,” said I; “that’s all.”
“Let me hear you.”
The little haughty command was delightful. I went at once and dashed into a piece of dance-music; then looked up, thinking it was Conny who stood near, but found it was my aunt.
“You have a charming touch, Mr. Charles,” said she. “Of course you sing.”
Of course I didn’t. She wouldn’t believe me, so conquering and clever did she consider her nephew. I dropped my assurances to the contrary after a little, being perfectly satisfied to be included in the rank of those who have honour thrust upon them, and went up to Conny and asked her to play.
“You would much rather smoke a cigar with papa than listen.”
“Before I grow eloquent,” said I, with a smile, “I should like to know if I may call you Constance?”
“Oh, I believe cousins are privileged.”