Mrs. Delano’s nice ideas of conventional propriety were a little disturbed, and she was slightly annoyed by the attention they attracted.  But she said to herself, “If I am always checking the child, I shall spoil the naturalness which makes her so charming.”  So she quietly went on explaining the pictures, and giving an account of the artists.

The next day it rained; and Mrs. Delano read aloud “The Lady of the Lake,” stopping now and then to explain its connection with Scottish history, or to tell what scenes Rossini had introduced in La Donna del Lago, which she had heard performed in Paris.  The scenes of the opera were eagerly imbibed, but the historical lessons rolled off her memory, like water from a duck’s back.  It continued to rain and drizzle for three days; and Flora, who was very atmospheric, began to yield to the dismal influence of the weather.  Her watchful friend noticed the shadow of homesickness coming over the sunlight of her eyes, and proposed that they should go to a concert.  Flora objected, saying that music would make her think so much of Rosabella, she was afraid she should cry in public.  But when the programme was produced, she saw nothing associated with her sister, and said, “I will go if you wish it, Mamita Lila, because I like to do everything you wish.”  She felt very indifferent about going; but when Mr. Wood came forward, singing, “The sea, the sea, the open sea!” in tones so strong and full that they seemed the voice of the sea itself, she was half beside herself with delight.  She kept time with her head and hands, with a degree of animation that made the people round her smile.  She, quite unconscious of observation, swayed to the music, and ever and anon nodded her approbation to a fair-faced young gentleman, who seemed to be enjoying the concert very highly, though not to such a degree as to be oblivious of the audience.

Mrs. Delano was partly amused and partly annoyed.  She took Flora’s hand, and by a gentle pressure, now and then, sought to remind her that they were in public; but she understood it as an indication of musical sympathy, and went on all the same.

When they entered the carriage to return home, she drew a long breath, and exclaimed, O Mamita, how I have enjoyed the concert!”

“I am very glad of it,” replied her friend.  “I suppose that was Mr. Blumenthal to whom you nodded several times, and who followed you to the carriage.  But, my dear, it isn’t the custom for young ladies to keep nodding to young gentlemen in public places.”

“Isn’t it?  I didn’t think anything about it,” rejoined Flora.  “But Florimond isn’t a gentleman.  He’s an old acquaintance.  Don’t you find it very tiresome, Mamita, to be always remembering what is the custom?  I’m sure I shall never learn.”

When she went singing up stairs that night, Mrs. Delano smiled to herself as she said, “What am I to do with this mercurial young creature?  What an overturn she makes in all my serious pursuits and quiet ways!  But there is something singularly refreshing about the artless little darling.”