Part 47 (1/2)
”It was something in a gla.s.s,” vaguely, ”she was mixing it--look out, Esther! You are spoiling your new gloves.”
The girl threw the crumpled gloves aside and drawing the child to her knee kissed her gently.
”It seems to me,” she said slowly, ”that big sister has been losing her eyes lately. She must find them again; it isn't going to help to be a selfish pig.”
”Help what, Esther?”
Esther's only answer was another kiss, but when she had hurried out of the room, Jane found something round and wet upon her hand.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Jane was still looking at the wet place on her hand when the doctor entered.
”Esther's been crying,” she told him. In her voice was the awe which children feel at the phenomenon of tears in grown-ups.
Callandar felt his heart contract--Esther crying! But he could not question the child.
”I don't know why,” went on Jane obligingly. ”Esther's so strange lately. Every one is strange. You are strange too. Am I strange?”
”A little,” said Callandar gravely.
”Perhaps it's catching? Do you want mother? She is upstairs and her door is locked. Perhaps she'll be down in a little while. She said Esther was to stay in and entertain you, but Esther wouldn't. She has gone to a garden party. I'll entertain you if you like.”
”That will be very nice.”
”Shall I play for you on the piano?”
”Thanks. And you won't mind if I sit in the corner here and close my eyes, until your mother comes?”
”No. You may go quite to sleep if you wish. I'm not sensitive about my playing. Bubble says you are nearly always tired now. He says you have such a 'normous practice that you hardly ever get a wink of sleep.
That's what makes you look so kind of hollow-eyed, Bubble says.”
”So Bubble has been diagnosing my case, has he?”
”Oh, he doesn't talk about professional cases usually. He said that about you because Mrs. Atkins said that being engaged didn't seem to agree with you. She said she was just as glad you didn't take a fancy to her Gracie if prospective matteromony made you look like the dead march in Saul.”
”Observing woman!”
”What,” resumed Jane, ”is a dead march in Saul?”
”It is a musical composition.”
Jane considered this and then dismissed it with a shrug. ”It sounded as if it was something horrid. Mrs. Atkins thinks she's smart. Anyway, I didn't tell mother.”
”Well, suppose you run now and tell her that I am here.”
”Can't. The door is locked.”
”Then let us have some of the music you promised. I'll sit here and wait.”