_Sept. 26th_. This little sheet of water in front of the house has the
greatest variety of aspects; its face is like a human face, full of
varying expressions. A slight haze made it so beautiful just before
sunset, I took my chair, and put it out of the window upon the grass,
then followed it, and sat with it tipped back against the house, close
by the window of one of those mysterious rooms where Miss Etty immures
herself. I heard the Canary say in a scolding tone, "I should think
you might oblige me; it is such a trifle to do, it is not worth
refusing. Why should you care for him!"
No answer, though I confess my ears were erected to the sharpest
attitude of listening. I was wholly oblivious of _myself_, or I should
have taken myself away, as in honor bound.
"Won't you now, Etty? I'll only ask for one of our old duets, just
one."
"No, Flora," said Little Ugly, coldly enough.
"Why not?" No answer.
"To be sure, _he_ might hear. He would find out that you are
musical. What of that? Where is the use of being _able_ to sing, to
sing only when there's nobody to listen?"
"I sing only to friends. I cannot sing, I have never sung, to persons
in whom I have no confidence."
"Afraid! What a little goose!"
"Not afraid, exactly.
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