She was
quivering in an ecstasy of emotion when the last chord came.
For an instant there was silence, then Isabel spoke. "How well you
play!" she said politely.
"I ought to," Allison replied, modestly. "I've worked hard enough."
"How long have you been studying?"
"Thirty years," he answered. "That is, I feel as if I had been at work
all my life."
"How funny!" exclaimed Isabel. "Are you thirty?"
"Just," he said.
"Then Cousin Rose and I are like steps, with you half way between us.
I'm twenty and she's forty," smiled Isabel, with childlike frankness.
Rose bit her lips, then the colour flamed into her face. "Yes," she
said, to break an awkward pause, "I'm forty. Old Rose," she added, with
a forced smile.
"Nonsense," said Allison quickly. "How can a rose be old?"
"Or," continued the Colonel, with an air of old-world gallantry, "how
can earth itself be any older, having borne so fair a rose upon its
breast for forty years?"
"Thank you both," responded Rose, her high colour receding. "Shall we
play again?"
While they were turning over the music Madame grappled with a temptation
to rebuke Isabel then and there.
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