“It’s the last pair we have, so that ends our fun for this day,” cried Muriel, taking the gilt mask from her bright, flushed face. “Serves me right for not always having half a dozen sets on hand, a thing I’ll do in future.”
“By Jupiter!” exclaimed Wentworth, while Muriel crossed to hang up her mask and foil, “that was tall fencing, while it lasted, anyhow. I’m sorry the foil’s broken, Muriel, for I wanted to fence with the fairy prince myself.”
“You ought to learn, Emily,” said Mrs. Eastman. “Then you and Richard could match John and Muriel.”
Emily stopped playing, and glanced at Wentworth with a slight curl of her lip, which did not escape the young artist.
“Indeed, Mrs. Eastman,” she said, “it’s not in my line, and I should make a poor figure at it, I know.”
“But it’s as beautiful as dancing,” said Mrs. Eastman.
“And a great deal more womanly than waltzing,” put in Wentworth, interrupting, to have his fling at Emily, who was very fond of the waltz.
Emily reddened, and fixed her lustrous eyes on Wentworth, hurt and angered by his remark.
“Come, come,” interposed Muriel, gaily, “I won’t have Emily badgered into doing anything it is not her genius to do. Fencing is not in her line, as she says; but music, dear Emily,” she added, putting her arms around her friend, “music is in your line, and charmingly you played for us. Your improvisation inspired our battle, and I should fence twice as well if I always had you to play for me.”