"We mustn't let it become permanent, you know, mother."
"No, David. It will go now you are at home."
He did not know that his mother and Laura had been having a lively discussion apropos of the silent tilt at the dinner-table, his sister pleading for a return to the old ways, and a release from such state and ceremony. "At least while we are by ourselves, mamma. Anyway, I know David will just hate it, and I don't see what good a title is if we must become perfect slaves to it."
David crossed the room and sat down before the piano. "How strange this old place seems without the others—Bob, and the cousins, and uncle himself! We weren't admitted often—but—"
"Sh—sh—" said Laura, who had followed him and stood at his ride. "Don't remind mamma. She remembers too much—all the time. Play the 'King's Hunting Jig,' David. Remember how you used to play it for me every evening after dinner, when I was a girl?"
"Do I remember? Rather! I have done nothing with the piano since then—when you were a girl. I'll play it for you now, while you are a girl."
"But I really am grown up now, David. It's quite absurd for me to go about like this. It's only because mamma chooses to have it so. She even keeps a governess for me still."