After supper, which was late and badly served, the young men were in

poor spirits. Mr MacWhirter retired to read. Mr Holiday sat picking his

teeth; Mr. Allport begged Vera to play the piano.

'Oh, the piano is not my instrument; mine was the violin, but I do not

play now,' she replied.

'But you will begin again,' pleaded Mr. Allport.

'No, never!' she said decisively. Allport looked at her closely. The

family tragedy had something to do with her decision, he was sure. He

watched her interestedly.

'Mother used to play--' she began.

'Vera!' said Beatrice reproachfully.

'Let us have a song,' suggested Mr. Holiday.

'Mr. Holiday wishes to sing, Mother,' said Vera, going to the

music-rack.

'Nay--I--it's not me,' Holiday began.

'"The Village Blacksmith",' said Vera, pulling out the piece. Holiday

advanced. Vera glanced at her mother.

'But I have not touched the piano for--for years, I am sure,' protested

Beatrice.

'You can play beautifully,' said Vera.

Beatrice accompanied the song. Holiday sang atrociously. Allport glared

at him. Vera remained very calm.

At the end Beatrice was overcome by the touch of the piano. She went out

abruptly.

'Mother has suddenly remembered that tomorrow's jellies are not made,'

laughed Vera.

Allport looked at her, and was sad.

When Beatrice returned, Holiday insisted she should play again. She

would have found it more difficult to refuse than to comply.

Vera retired early, soon to be followed by Allport and Holiday. At half

past ten Mr. MacWhirter came in with his ancient volume. Beatrice was

studying a cookery-book.

'You, too, at the midnight lamp!' exclaimed MacWhirter politely.

'Ah, I am only looking for a pudding for tomorrow,' Beatrice replied.

'We shall feel hopelessly in debt if you look after us so well,' smiled

the young man ironically.

'I must look after you,' said Beatrice.

'You do--wonderfully. I feel that we owe you large debts of gratitude.'

The meals were generally late, and something was always wrong.

'Because I scan a list of puddings?' smiled Beatrice uneasily.

'For the puddings themselves, and all your good things. The piano, for

instance. That was very nice indeed.' He bowed to her.

'Did it disturb you? But one does not hear very well in the study.' 'I opened the door,' said MacWhirter, bowing again.

'It is not fair,' said Beatrice. 'I am clumsy now--clumsy. I once could

play.' 'You play excellently. Why that "once could"?' said MacWhirter.

'Ah, you are amiable. My old master would have said differently,' she

replied.




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