“No--that is very likely,” said Agnes, somewhat puzzled; “but I think you do not mean education,” said the young author immediately, seeing Marian somewhat disposed to resent on her behalf this broad assertion. “You mean distress and sorrow. But we have had a great deal of grief at home. We have lost dear little children, one after another. We are not ignorant of grief.”
Rachel looked at them with strange observation, wonder, and uncertainty. “But you are ignorant of me--and I am ignorant of you,” she said slowly, pausing between her words. “I suppose you mean just what you say, do you? and I am not much used to that. Do you know what I am here for?--only to sing and amuse the people--and you still want to make friends with me!”
“Mrs Edgerley said you were to be a singer, but you did not like it,” said Marian; “and I think you are very right.”
“Did she say so?--and what more?” said Rachel, smiling faintly. “I want to hear now, though I did not when I heard your voices first.”
“She said you were a connection of the family,” said Agnes.
The blood rushed again to the young stranger’s brow. “Ah! I understand,” she said; “she implied--yes. I know how she would do. And you will still be friends with _me_?”
At that moment it suddenly flashed upon the recollection of both the girls that Mamma had disapproved of this prospective acquaintance. They both blushed with instant consciousness, and neither of them spoke. In an instant Rachel became frozen into a haughtiness far exceeding anything within the power of Mrs Edgerley. Little and slight as she was, her girlish frame rose to the dignity of a young queen. Before Agnes could say a word, she had left them with a slight and lofty bow. Without haste, but with singular rapidity, she crossed the dewy lawn, and went into the house, acknowledging, with a stately inclination of her head, some one who passed her. The girls were so entirely absorbed, watching her progress, that they did not perceive who this other person was.
“Strange creature!” said Sir Langham Portland, who had joined the girls almost before they were aware; “Odd girl! If Lucifer had a sister, I should know where to find her; but a perfect siren so far as music is concerned. Did you hear her sing last night--that thing of Beethoven’s--what is the name of it? Do you like Beethoven, though? _She_, I suppose, worships him.”