“Certainly, Miss Orme; come in.”

Mrs. Palma looked up for an instant only from the blue sash which she was embroidering with silver.

“Is your discourse confidential?  If so, I shall certainly retire, and leave you and mamma to tender communings, and an interchange of souls,” said Olga, who reclined on a lounge in her mother’s room, and slowly turned the leaves of a volume of Balzac.

“Not at all confidential.  Mrs. Palma, I have reason to fear that my practising has long annoyed you.”

“Upon what do you base your supposition?  During the year I have not found fault with you, have I?”

“Hattie told me that you often complained that you could no longer enjoy your morning nap, because the sound of the piano disturbed you; and I wish to change the hour.  The reason why I selected that time was because I always rose early and practised before breakfast until I came here; and because later in the day company in the parlours or reception-room keep me out.  I am anxious to do whatever is most agreeable to you.”

“It is very true that when I am out frequently until two and three o’clock, with Olga, it is not particularly refreshing to be aroused at seven by scales and exercises.  People who live as continually in society as we do must have a little rest.

“I have been trying to arrange, so as to avoid annoying you, but do not well see how to correct the trouble.  From nine until one Mr. Van Kleik comes to attend to my Latin, German, French, and mathematics, and from four until five Professor Hurtzsel gives me my lessons.  In the interval persons are frequently calling, and of course interrupt me.  If you will only tell me what you wish, I will gladly consult your convenience.

“Indeed, Miss Orme, I do not know when the tiresome practising will be convenient, though of course it is a necessary evil and must be borne.  The fact is, that magnificent grand piano downstairs ought never to be thrummed upon for daily practising.  I told Erle soon after you came that it was a shame to have it so abused, but men have no understanding of the fitness of things.”

“Pray, mamma, do not forget your Bible injunction:  ’Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,’ and to music, the matters that belong to its own divine art.  Until Regina came among us that melodious siren in the front parlour had a chronic lock-jaw from want of use.  Some of the white keys stuck fast when they were touched, and the black ones were so stiff they almost required a hammer to make them sound.  Do let her limber them at her own ‘sweet will.’  Who wants a piano locked up, like that hideous old china and heavy glass that your grandfather’s fifth cousin brought over from Amsterdam?”

“At what time of day did you practise when you were a young girl?” asked Regina, appealing to the figure now coiled up on the lounge.