She seemed all alert in a
quiet way. She greeted him with a smile, and sate turned towards
him, her chin on her hand, her eyes upon him. Her shining hair fell
over the curves of her young and pure neck. She was holding a
flower, which Mrs. Graves had given her, in her other hand, and its
fragrance exhaled all about her. Once or twice she checked him with
a little gesture of her hand, when Miss Merry began to play, and he
could see that she was much affected by the music.
"It seems to me so wrong to talk during music," she said; "perhaps
it wasn't polite of me to stop you, but I can't bear to interrupt
music--it's like treading on flowers--it can't come again just like
that!"
"Yes," said Howard, "I know exactly what you mean; but I expect it
is a mistake to think of a beautiful thing being wasted, if we
don't happen to hear or see it. It isn't only meant for us. It is
the light or the sound or the flower, I think, being beautiful
because it is glad."
"Yes," said the girl, "perhaps it is that. That is what Mrs. Graves
thinks. Do you know, it seems to me strange that you have never
been here before, though you are almost her only relation. She is
the most wonderful person I have ever seen. The only person I know
who seems always right, and yet never wants anyone else to know she
is right."
"Yes," said Howard, "I feel that I have been very foolish--but it
has been going on all the time, like the music and the light.
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