Ephie was standing with her back to it, staring out of the window, and supporting herself on the table by her violin, which she held by the neck. At Johanna"s entrance, she started, grew very red, and hastily raised the instrument to her shoulder.
"What are you doing, Ephie? You are wasting a great deal of time," said Johanna in the tone of mild reproof that came natural to her, in speaking to her little sister. "Is anything the matter to-day? If you don"t practice better than this, you won"t have the ETUDE ready by Friday, and Herr Becker will make you take it again--for the third time."
"He can if he likes. I guess I don"t care," said Ephie nonchalantly, and, seizing the opportunity offered for a break, she sat down, and laid bow and fiddle on the table.
"Have you remembered everything he pointed out to you at your last lesson?" asked Johanna, going over to the music-stand, and peering at the pages with her shortsighted eyes. "Let me see--what was it now?
Something about this double-stopping here, and the fingering in this position."
Ephie laughed. "Old Joan, what do you know about it?"
"Not much, dear, I admit," said Johanna pleasantly. "But try and master it, like a good girl. So you can get rid of it, and go on to something else."
Ephie sat back, clasped her hands behind her head, and gave a long sigh. "Yes, to the next one," she said. "Oh, if you only knew how sick I am of them, Joan! The next won"t be a bit better than this. They are all alike--a whole book of them."
Johanna looked down at the little figure with the plump, white arms, and discontented expression; and she tried to find in the childish face something she had previously not seen there.
"Are you tired of studying, Ephie?" she asked. "Would you like to leave off and go away?"
"Go away from Leipzig? Where to?" Ephie did not unclasp her hands, but her eyes grew vigilant.
"Oh, there are plenty of other places, child. Dresden--or Weimar--or Stuttgart--where you could take lessons just as well. Or if you are tired of studying altogether, there is no need for you to go on with it. We can return home, any day. Sometimes, I think it would be better if we did. You have not been yourself lately, dear. I don"t think you are very well."
"I not myself?--not well? What rubbish you talk, Joan! I am quite well, and wish you wouldn"t tease me. I guess you want to go away yourself.
You are tired of being here. But nothing shall induce me to go. I love old Leipzig. And I still have heaps to learn before I leave off studying.--I don"t even know whether I shall be ready by spring. It all depends. And now, Joan, go away." She took up her violin and put it on her shoulder. "Now it"s you who are wasting time. How can I practise when you stand there talking?"
Johanna was silent. But after this, she did not venture to mention Maurice"s name; and she had turned to leave the room when she remembered her meeting with Mrs. Tully.
"I would rather you did not go to tea, Ephie," she ended, and then regretted having said it.
"That"s another of your silly prejudices, Joan. I want to know why you feel so about Mrs. Tully. I think she"s lovely. Not that I"d have gone anyway. I promised Maurice to go for a walk with him at five. I know what her "few friends" means, too--just Boehmer, and she asks me along so people will think he comes to see me, and not her. He sits there, and twirls his moustache, and makes eyes at her, and she makes them back. I"m only for show. No, I shouldn"t have gone. I can"t bear Boehmer. He"s such a goat."
"You didn"t think that as long as he came to see us," expostulated Johanna.
"No, of course not. But so he only comes to see her, I do.--And sometimes, Joan, why it"s just embarra.s.sing. The last afternoon, why, he had a headache or something, and she made him lie on the sofa, with a rug over him, so she could bathe his head with eau-de-cologne. I guess she"s going to marry him. And I"m not the only one. The other day I heard Frau Walter and Frau von Baerle talking in the dining-room after dinner, and they said the little English widow was very HEIRATSl.u.s.tIG."
"Ephie, I don"t like to hear you repeat such foolish gossip," said Johanna in real distress. "And if you can understand and remember a word like that, you might really take more pains with your German. It is not impossible for you to learn, you see."
"Joan the preacher, and Joan the teacher, and Joan the wise old bird,"
sang Ephie, and laughed. "I think Mrs. Tully is real kind. She"s going to show me a new way to do my hair. This style is quite out in London, she says."
"Don"t let her touch your hair. It couldn"t be better than it is," said Johanna quickly. But Ephie turned her head this way and that, and considered herself in the looking-gla.s.s.
Now that she knew Maurice was expected that afternoon, Johanna awaited his arrival with impatience. Meanwhile, she believed she was not wrong in thinking Ephie unusually excited. At dinner, where, as always, the elderly boarders made a great fuss over her, her laughter was so loud as to grate on Johanna"s ear; but afterwards, in their own sitting-room, a trifle sufficed to put her out of temper. A new hat had been sent home, a hat which Johanna had not yet seen. Now that it had come, Ephie was not sure whether she liked it or not; and all the cries of admiration her mother and Mrs. Tully uttered, when she put it on, were necessary to rea.s.sure her. Johanna was silent, and this unspoken disapproval irritated Ephie.
"Why don"t you say something, Joan?" she cried crossly. "I suppose you think it"s homely?"
"Frankly, I don"t care for it much, dear. To my mind, it"s overtrimmed."
This was so precisely Ephie"s own feeling that she was more annoyed than ever; she taunted Johanna with old-fashioned, countrified tastes; and, in spite of her mother"s comforting a.s.surances, retired in a pet to her own room.
That afternoon, as they sat together at tea, Mrs. Cayhill, who for some time had considered Ephie fondly, said: "I can"t understand you thinking she isn"t well, Joan. I never saw her look better."
Ephie went crimson. "Now what has Joan been saying about me?" she asked angrily.
Johanna had left the table, and was reading on the sofa.
"I only said what I repeated to yourself, Ephie. That I didn"t think you were looking well."
"Just fancy," said Mrs. Cayhill, laughing good-humouredly, "she was saying we ought to leave Leipzig and go to some strange place. Even back home to America. You don"t want to go away, darling, do you?"
"No, really, Joan is too bad," cried Ephie, with a voice in which tears and exasperation struggled for the mastery. "She always has some new fad in her head. She can"t leave us alone--never! Let her go away, so she wants to. I won"t. I"m happy here. I love being here. Even if you both go away, I shall stop."
She got up from the table, and went to a window, where she stood biting her lips, and paying small attention to her mother"s elaborate protests that she, too, had no intention of being moved.
Johanna did not raise her eyes from her book. She could have wept: not only at the spirit of rebellious dislike, which was beginning to show more and more clearly in everything Ephie said. But was no one but herself awake to the change that was taking place in the child, day by day? She would write to her father, without delay, and make him insist on their returning to America.
From the moment Maurice entered the room, she did not take her eyes off him; and, under her scrutiny, the young man soon grew nervous. He sat and fidgeted, and found nothing to say.
Ephie was wayward: she did not think she wanted to go out; it looked like rain. Johanna refrained from interfering; but Maurice was most persistent: he begged Ephie not to disappoint him, and, when this failed, said angrily that she had no business to bring him there for such capricious whims. This treatment cowed Ephie; and she went at once to put on her hat and jacket.
"He wants to speak to her; and she knows it; and is trying to avoid it," said Johanna to herself; and her heart beat fast for both of them.
But she was alone with Maurice; she must not lose the chance of sounding him a little.
"Where do you think of going for a walk?" she asked, and her voice had an odd tone to her ears.
"Where? Oh, to the ROSENTAL--or the SCHEIBENHOLZ--or along the river.
Anywhere. I don"t know."
She coughed. "Have you noticed anything strange about Ephie lately? She is not herself. I"m afraid she is not well."
He had noticed nothing. But he did not face Johanna; and he held the photograph he was looking at upside down.
She leaned out of the window to watch them walk along the street. At this moment, she was fully convinced of the correctness of her mother"s a.s.sumption; and by the thought of what might take place within the next hour, she was much disturbed. During the rest of the afternoon, she found it impossible to settle to anything; and she wandered from one room to another, unable even to read. But it struck six, seven, eight o"clock; it was supper-time; and still Ephie had not come home. Mrs.
Cayhill grew anxious, too, and Johanna strained her eyes, watching the dark street. At nine and at ten, she was pacing the room, and at eleven, after a messenger had been sent to Maurice"s lodging and had found no one there she b.u.t.toned on her rain-cloak, to accompany one of the servants to the police-station.
"Why did I let her go?--Oh, why did I let her go!"
IV.
Maurice and Ephie walked along the LESSINGSTRa.s.sE without speaking--it was a dull, mild day, threatening to rain, as it had rained the whole of the preceding night. But Ephie was not accustomed to be silent; she found the stillness disconcerting, and before they had gone far, shot a furtive look at her companion. She did not intend him to see it; but he did, and turned to her. He cleared his throat, and seemed about to speak, then changed his mind. Something in his face, as she observed it more nearly, made Ephie change colour and give an awkward laugh.
"I asked you before how you liked my hat," she said, with another attempt at the airiness which, to-day, she could not command. "And you didn"t say. I guess you haven"t looked at it. You"re in such a hurry."
Maurice turned his head; but he did not see the hat. Instead, he mentally answered a question Louise had put to him the day before, and which he had then not known how to meet. Yes, Ephie was pretty, radiantly pretty, with the fresh, unsullied charm of a flower just blown.