LA SOIRÉE MUSICALE.
"Girls! what do you think's up?" exclaimed Sarah Brown, as she bounced
into the library one afternoon. "Miss Stiefbach and Mr. Stein have just
been having a long confab in the 'secret-chamber,' and they came out
just as I passed the door, and I heard Miss 'Stiffy' say, 'Yes, I knew
you would prefer Friday, so I ventured to invite them without seeing you
again; as yet the young ladies know nothing about it!' Now _I_ should
like to knew what in the world _it_ is."
"Well, so should I!" exclaimed Julia Thayer. "What can she mean;
'invited them,' and 'the young ladies know nothing about it.' She must
be going to give a party."
"Yes, that's it, you may be sure," said Marion; "she's going to give a
party, and she and Mr. Stein are going to lead the German. Won't they
look well dancing the 'deux-temps' together?"
"O Marion, how perfectly ridiculous!" laughed Florence. "You know she
can't be going to have a party; but what can it mean?"
"Are you sure you heard right, Sallie?" asked Grace Minton. "Why didn't
you break your shoe-string and stop to tie it up; or do something or
other to keep you there long enough to get something a little more
satisfactory?"
"Why, I couldn't hang round the hall listening to what they said, could
I? But I know there is to be something going on here Friday; see if
there isn't."
"Yes, and Miss Stiefbach isn't going to say anything about it to us
until the last moment, because she thinks our heads will be full of it,"
ejaculated Marion. "I've a great mind to ask her myself."
"If I was in the habit of betting, I would bet you anything that I know
all about it," remarked Georgie Graham, who had kept silent while the
other girls were making their comments.
"Oh, what is it?" asked Marion; "my principles and my purse too will
stand a pound of candy."
"And I another," cried Sarah.
"Not so fast," replied Georgie. "I said _if_ I was in the habit of
betting, but I never bet; it is very unladylike."
"Granted!" cried Marion; "but please reserve your lecture for another
time, and out with your secret."
"I really don't know as I _ought_ to tell," said Georgie, as she counted
the stitches on her canvas in a provokingly cool way. "I knew it by
accident, and that is the reason I haven't spoken of it before."
"Oh, if you got possession of it in the same way you have of several
other secrets here, I don't blame you for not wanting to tell of it,"
retorted Sarah.
"I don't know what you mean to insinuate, Sarah; but I heard of this
entirely by accident two weeks ago to-morrow," replied Georgie in the
same unmoved tone. "I was in the anteroom looking over an exercise which
monsieur wanted me to correct, when I heard Mr. Stein and Miss Stiefbach
talking together in very low tones in the school-room. Of course it did
not occur to me that there could be anything private in what they were
saying, or I should have let them know I was there"--("Of course,"
laconically remarked Marion)--"but when they had got through their
conversation Miss Stiefbach said, 'We will say nothing about it to any
one, as I wish it should remain a secret for the present;'--so I said
nothing."
"Well, don't you _intend_ to say anything?" cried Sarah Brown; "now that
we know there is something going on, don't you intend to tell us what it
is?"
"I really don't think it would be very honorable in me," rejoined
Georgie, thoroughly enjoying her important position.
"Don't trouble her, Sarah; we all know what her conscientious scruples
are. It would be a pity to have them disturbed," remarked Marion in a
cutting, sarcastic tone. "I can tell you what it all means in five
seconds."
"What is it?--tell us, do!" cried all, with the exception of Georgie.
"Miss Stiefbach intends to have some sort of a musical spread next
Friday, and we girls have got to play."
"How did you know it?" exclaimed Georgie, thoroughly off her guard.
"I didn't take your method of finding it out, you may be sure," replied
Marion. "I never heard a word about it before this afternoon; but if you
put two and two together they generally make four, that's all."
"What do you mean by putting 'two and two together'?" impatiently asked
Julia Thayer.
"Why, just this!" replied Marion. "Does Mr. Stein have an earthly thing
to do with this school except to give us music-lessons? and is there
anything that Miss Stiefbach could be getting up with him, that
concerned the 'young ladies' that didn't have something to do with our
music? and would she be inviting people here when it was convenient to
_him_ if it wasn't that they are going to give a musicale, and he is
going to make us play? So there you've got the whole matter; I don't
think it required much brilliancy to see that."
"Well, I _never_ should have thought of it!" exclaimed Sarah.
"Nor I either," said Florence. "But don't you think it is awfully mean
not to have let us known anything about it beforehand, so that we might
have had time to practise?"
"I presume Mr. Stein has been secretly drilling us for it this long
time, though we poor, unconscious victims didn't suspect it," replied
Marion. "But there's Georgie, she has the advantage of us; she has
probably decided what she is going to play, and has learned it
perfectly." But there was no reply from Georgie as she had discreetly
left the room.
"Oh, isn't she sly?" exclaimed Grace Minton.
"Sly! sly isn't the word for it," put in Sarah Brown in her most
energetic tones; "she ought to have been named Foxy Graham!"
"Well, there's one thing certain," said Grace Minton, "I shan't have to
play; I thank my stars for that!"
"I wonder who will play," said Florence. "Georgie Graham of course;
Julia; and you Mab; and I rather guess I shall have to. Well, I don't
much care, I don't believe there will be many here, and I think it's
time I learned to play before strangers."
"I don't know how I shall ever get on in the world," cried Marion in a
despairing tone; "that is about the only thing I never could do."
"And I think it is so strange," remarked Julia Thayer; "for you see so
much company at home, and always seem so self-possessed wherever you
are, that it does seem queer that you are afraid to play before people."
"I know it. I dare say every one thinks it is all affectation," replied
Marion, "for I know you all think I've got assurance enough to do most
anything; but it is the honest truth, that I'm frightened half to death
whenever I sit down to play to any one; and if I get along well at this
affair of Miss Stiefbach's, it will be nothing but my _will_ that
carries me through."
"So you mean to play, do you?" asked Georgie Graham, who at this
juncture suddenly made her appearance in the room.
"Yes, I mean to play if I'm asked, and I suppose I shall be, because I
think I ought. I am determined to overcome this ridiculous nervousness,
even if it is at the expense of fifty mortifying failures before I do
it; so, girls, look out and prepare yourselves for a public disgrace;
for of _course_ there is not one of you who would not take it quite to
heart if I should break down."
"Well," replied Sarah Brown in the most energetic tone (Sarah almost
always spoke in italics), "I know I for one should feel dreadfully;
though of _course_ I can't answer for some of the rest of us;" and she
cast a meaning glance at Georgie.
"I'm sure, Marion, I _hope_ you won't fail," said Georgie as she picked
up her work, her ostensible reason for coming back, and left the room.
"I know one thing," exclaimed Sarah; "if that girl kept a list of all
the lies she tells in a week, white and black; she'd use up all the
letter-paper there is in the town."
"O Sallie!" laughed Florence, "you're too severe. I'm afraid you don't
entertain a Christian spirit towards Georgie."
"I don't, and I don't pretend to!" answered Sarah. "I never did like
her, and I never shall; she's always saying something to aggravate me."
"But she didn't say anything to you then," said Julia Thayer, with a
mischievous twinkle in her eyes; "she was only _hoping_ that Marion
would not break down."
"Yes, and a lot she hoped it!" excitedly replied Sarah; "there's
nothing would suit her better than to have Mab make a regular failure of
it; and I just wanted to let her know I thought so."
"Now, Sarah," said Marion, in a half-laughing, half-serious tone, "don't
you trouble yourself to fight my battles. I think I am quite equal to it
myself; besides, you'll have your hands full to look after your own
squabbles."
"There's ingratitude for you!" said Grace Minton. "If I were you,
Sallie, I never would trouble myself about her again; she doesn't
deserve such a champion."
"Oh, I don't mind what she says," replied Sarah, good-naturedly; "she
can't make me hold my tongue, and I shall say just what I've a mind to,
to that Georgie Graham, so long as she keeps on tormenting me."
That evening the whole school was informed that on the following Friday
Miss Stiefbach was to give a soirée musicale, at which ten of the
scholars were to perform.
These were Marion Berkley, Florence Stevenson, Alice Howard, Mattie
Denton, Julia Thayer, Georgie Graham, Susie Snelling, Kate Brastow, and,
to the surprise of every one, little Rose May and Fannie Thayer.
Of course nothing was talked of that week out of study hours, but the
soirée, and great indignation was expressed by most of the performers
that they had not been allowed more time to prepare themselves. But Mr.
Stein knew what he was about; he wished the musicale to be as much as
was possible an impromptu affair, as it was not his idea to make an
exhibition of the skill of his pupils, but to accustom them to play with
ease and self-possession before strangers. He gave his pupils a list of
their names in the order in which they were to play, selected from the
music belonging to each girl several pieces, from which she was to
choose one, exercising her own taste and judgment; decided himself upon
the duets he wished performed, and then informed them that his part in
the matter was ended; from that moment he was to be nothing but a
spectator.
"But, Mr. Stein," exclaimed one, "just _please_ tell me, can I play this
well enough?" and then from a second, "O Mr. Stein, _would_ you play
this?" and "Oh, I never can play _any_ of these before any one!" from a
third, and many other exclamations and lamentations were poured upon
him; but he only held up his hands in a deprecating way. "Now, young
ladies, do not, do not, I beg of you, ask me another question! I
consider that you know any one of the pieces which I have laid aside for
you to choose from sufficiently well to play anywhere; it only remains
for you to decide which one you will play. Now, good-by until Friday;
you will not see me until then, when I shall not come as your teacher,
but as an invited guest, to have my ears delighted with the sweet sounds
which I shall expect to hear from that instrument;" and with a profound
bow the old German made his exit.
But, notwithstanding his apparent unconcern as to the result of this new
whim of his, Mr. Stein was really quite excited about it; several of his
pupils at Miss Stiefbach's he considered were quite remarkable for their
age, and he looked forward to the coming musicale with a feeling of
pride not unmixed with fear, lest some of his favorites should fail to
do themselves credit.
Marion had noticed that for two weeks before the secret was generally
known Georgie Graham had practised Chopin's Polonaise in A, every day,
but since the whole school had been informed of the musicale she had
only heard her play it twice. This induced her to think that Georgie,
taking advantage of the knowledge which she had surreptitiously gained,
had chosen that piece for Friday night, and having nearly perfected
herself in it, was avoiding practising it, so that none of the girls
might suspect what she intended to play.
Marion would not have been likely to have thought of this, if she had
not taken the Polonaise about the same time that Georgie had, and had
often remarked that she thought Georgie played it better than anything
else, and very much better than she did herself. Remembering this, and
knowing that Georgie would be particularly anxious to excel her in the
eyes of the whole school, and before invited guests, she felt perfectly
confident that Chopin's Polonaise was the piece she had chosen.
Now Georgie had certainly done everything she could to make Marion
thoroughly uncomfortable ever since they had been back at school, and
Marion had been actually longing for an opportunity to revenge herself.
Here was the opportunity. The soirée was to open with a duet by Mattie
Denton and Julia Thayer; then a solo by Florence, followed by a song
from Alice Howard; then a piano solo from Marion, and after her Georgie
Graham. This precedence over Georgie gave Marion the opportunity which
she could not resist. She would play the Polonaise herself, thus forcing
Georgie to choose another piece almost without a moment's notice.
Do not despise her, my friends; she was very much like other girls, and
had a natural desire to punish Georgie for all the mean, petty
annoyances to which she had been subjected at her hands. A very wrong
desire, I grant you, and one for which she blamed herself very much; but
she had it, and consequently as a faithful chronicler I must write it.
But do not for a moment suppose that she intended publicly to disgrace
her school-mate; nothing of the kind; she knew that Georgie was
perfectly capable, and perfectly willing to play any of her music before
no matter how many strangers. She only wanted to provoke her, and spoil
her nicely arranged plan of playing a very difficult and very brilliant
piece of music, better than any of the other girls would be able to
play, as they had not had the advantages of practising expressly for the
occasion which she had taken. She was not at all jealous of Georgie, for
although they were generally considered the rival pianists of the
establishment, the rivalry was entirely on Georgie's side.
Many might say that they played equally well, but the few who truly
loved music for its own sake missed something in Georgie's playing which
they found in Marion's.
The secret was this: Georgie played from a love of the admiration and
praise she received, and from an ambitious resolution she had made when
a little child, that no one she knew should play better than she did
herself. Consequently every one was struck with the accuracy and
rapidity of her execution, and the brilliancy of her touch in all
difficult music; but in more quiet pieces,--pieces that required that
the soul of the performer should thrill through every chord, and vibrate
with every touch of the piano, that the full depth and beauty of their
perfect harmony might be conveyed to the listener's ear,--then it was
that Georgie's playing seemed cold and mechanical, while that of Marion
seemed an interpretation of the purest ideas of the composer.
Friday afternoon came at last. Throughout the house the two pianos had
been going at almost every hour in the day; early and late, before
breakfast and after supper, might be heard duets, solos, and songs,
until those scholars who were not to perform at the musical soirée
declared themselves thoroughly disgusted with the whole affair, and
hoped Miss Stiefbach would never have another.
This afternoon, however, no one was allowed to go near the piano, and
every girl was obliged to learn her lessons for Monday, and take her
usual amount of exercise, notwithstanding that they had all begged and
entreated to be permitted to give their last moments to music. Miss
Stiefbach was obdurate and held her ground, for she knew the girls were
all very much excited, and that nothing but a strict attention to other
things would sufficiently calm them to enable them to play at all, that
night.
But just before tea excitement reigned supreme. To be sure it was
divided and subdivided by being confined to the various rooms where the
scholars were dressing themselves for the evening; still, if an entire
stranger had walked through the lower part of the house where everything
was quiet, and no one was to be seen except Miss Christine, who was
arranging some beautiful flowers that had mysteriously made their
appearance that afternoon, he would have felt perfectly sure that some
event of an unusual and highly interesting nature was about to take
place. As a rule all the scholars dressed very plainly, for Miss
Stiefbach's motto regarding dress which she endeavored to instill into
the youthful minds about her was, "Neatness, not display."
But notwithstanding the fact that ordinarily all finery was eschewed,
almost every girl had stowed away in her trunk at least one dress a
little more elaborate than the rest of her wardrobe; a set of pretty
jewelry, or handsome ribbons, "in case anything should happen;" and now
something was actually going to happen; the dull routine of school-life
was to be broken in upon, and consequently the little vanities of this
world would have a chance to air themselves.
"To friz, or not to friz! that is the question!" exclaimed Marion, as
she turned from her looking-glass and appealed to Florence, who was
buttoning her best-fitting cloth boots.
"Why, friz of course; you know it's the most becoming."
"Oh, I know that well enough; but you see I was too sleepy to put it up
last night, and now I shall have to do it with hot slate-pencil, and
it's the ruination of the hair."
"I guess it won't hurt it for just this once, and this is certainly a
great occasion," answered Florence; "what are you going to wear on
it,--cherry?"
"Oh, no! that lovely gold band you gave me; it just suits my dress, and
lights up beautifully. I like to wear only one color when I can."
"That is all very well for you to say (these boots are _rayther_ snug),
because you're a blonde, and look well in plain colors; but I'm such a
darkey that nothing but red and yellow suits me," said Florence.
"So much the better. I don't think there is anything handsomer than a
rich orange or a bright scarlet, and sometimes a little of both is just
the thing. There! how does that look?" continued Marion, as she put the
last hair-pin in her back braids, gave an extra touch to the gleaming
waves of her front hair, and straightened the narrow gold satin band
which ran through them.
"Perfectly lovely!" enthusiastically cried Florence; "you've got it just
high enough without being a bit too high, and those crimps are heavenly!
Now put on your dress; I want to see the whole effect before I get
myself up."
"I don't think it is quite long enough, do you?" asked Marion, in a
doubtful tone, as she shook out the folds of a rich Irish poplin, and
threw it over her head; "it is so awfully hard to get a dress just
the right length, when you are not old enough for a train, and too old
to have it up to your knees! But there! how's that?" and she turned for
her friend's final verdict.
"Lovely! just lovely! That is the prettiest shade of green I _ever_ saw;
and _such_ a poplin! Where did you get it?"
"Uncle George brought it to me from Ireland; wasn't it good of him? But
come, Florence, you really must hurry; I expect the tea-bell will ring
any minute; it's a blessed thing Miss Stiefbach put tea off half an
hour, or we should never have been dressed beforehand. O Flo! what a
stunning dress! I never saw it before."
"_Do_ you like it? I didn't show it to you, for I was afraid you would
think it was terribly niggery; but I saw it in Chandler's window, and
just walked in and bought it without saying boo to auntie, and it really
is quite becoming to me, I'm so black."
"Becoming! I should think it was; I never saw you look so well in
anything in your life. If the thing had been made for you it couldn't
have suited your style better, and that Roman-gold jewelry is just right
for it; in fact, as mademoiselle used to say, you are decidedly 'comme
il faut.'"
The two girls certainly made a charming picture as they stood together,
each interested and eager that the other should look her best.
Marion's beautiful hair fell slightly over her forehead in soft, curling
waves, seeming even lighter and brighter than ever, and making the
contrast with her dark eyes and eyebrows all the more marked. Her fair
skin and glowing cheeks were set off to advantage by the rich green
dress she wore, which, though simply trimmed and in keeping with her
years, was very handsome.
It would have been hard to choose between the two, for each in her own
style was certainly very lovely.
Florence's hair was drawn off from her low, broad forehead, as she
always wore it, and she had nothing on it but a tiny gilt band, like a
golden thread encircling her head; which, though she did not know it,
was a perfect Clytie in contour. Her dress was a French poplin, the
ground a rich blue, while all over it, at regular intervals, were
embroidered singularly odd-shaped figures in the brightest-colored
silks, giving it a peculiar, piquante appearance, and perfectly suiting
the wearer's brunette beauty.
Perhaps I have given too much time and space to dress; but parents and
guardians may skip the above passage, as it is written expressly for
young girls, who, I know from personal experience, are very naturally
interested in such matters.
The hour at last arrived. The grand-piano stood between the
folding-doors which separated the two large parlors; in the back room
was Miss Christine, surrounded by all the school, and in the front sat
Miss Stiefbach and the invited guests, about twenty in number, all of
them refined, cultivated persons, many of them quite severe musical
critics.
Mr. Stein fluttered from one room to the other, trying hard to appear
unconcerned; but I doubt if any of his pupils were in a greater state of
excitement than he. It had been an undecided question whether or no he
should stand by the piano and turn over the music; but the majority
concluded that he would only make them more nervous, so he retired to
the back of the front parlor, in a position where he could command a
view of every note in the key-board.
M. Béranger made his appearance at an early hour, and declared his
intention of sitting with Miss Christine, to help her preserve order.
She remonstrated with him, telling him he could hear the music to much
better advantage in the other room; but nevertheless, when the company
was all seated, and silence reigned supreme preparatory to the opening
duet, M. Béranger quietly ensconced himself in the back parlor.
The fatal moment had at last arrived; the musicale was about to
commence.
Marion sat through the first duet, trying hard not to think of herself,
and to listen to the music; but she heard nothing but a confusion of
sounds, the beating of her own heart sounding loudest of all. Florence's
piece she did enjoy, and joined heartily in the applause which followed
its 'finale,' and gave her friend's hand a congratulatory squeeze, as
she came back to the seat beside her. But in a very few moments Alice
Howard's song was ended, and as the murmurs of approbation died away,
Marion took her seat at the piano.
To all outward appearance she was calm and self-possessed, and with a
strong effort she summoned her almost indomitable will to her aid and
struck the first chords clearly and decisively. Through the first two
pages everything went well; but just as she was about to turn over her
music, she missed one or two notes with her left hand. No one who was
not perfectly familiar with every bar of the music would have noticed
the omission; but to Marion it seemed as if she had made a terrible
discord. Her forced composure left her, and all her nervousness came
back again; she turned over hastily; the music slipped from her fingers
and fell to the keys; she grasped it blindly with both hands, but the
loose sheets fluttered to the floor, and confused, embarrassed, and
mortified almost beyond endurance; she stooped to pick them up, amid a
silence which was unbroken, save by Miss Stiefbach, who said in cold,
hard tones:--
"Miss Berkley, do not attempt to repeat your piece; such carelessness is
unpardonable."
The hot blood rushed to Marion's face; then as suddenly receded, leaving
it deathly white. She rose from the piano, and with a firm step and
untrembling lips walked quietly to her seat. But although externally she
was so calm as to appear almost indifferent, her mind was in a state of
the wildest excitement. The air immediately about her seemed filled with
a confusion of sounds, rushing, whirring, whirling about her; while the
dead silence of the room seemed to take palpable shape and weight,
crushing upon her, until she felt as if she must rush from the room to
break through the unbearable stillness, or scream aloud to silence the
imaginary sounds that were ringing in her ears.
But she did neither; she sat quietly in her seat, the object of stealthy
but almost general scrutiny. Some of the girls looked at her with
pitying, sympathizing eyes; those who did not like her exchanged glances
of satisfaction; but all refrained from speaking to her, or otherwise
showing their sympathy,--all but Florence; she slipped her hand into her
friend's, and there it remained for the rest of the evening.
When Marion first struck the piano, and Georgie Graham saw what she was
about to play, her rage and indignation knew no bounds; but when the
music fell, and Marion stood mortified, and, as she thought, disgraced
in the eyes of every one, her spirits rose to a most unparalleled
height, and elated and radiant with satisfaction she took her seat at
the piano, and played the Polonaise almost faultlessly; better than she
had ever played it before.
With the exception of Marion, all the pupils acquitted themselves with a
great deal of credit; but for a while her failure seemed to cast a
slight shadow over the evening's enjoyment; for her beauty, and the
heroic manner with which she had borne her disgrace, aggravated as it
was by Miss Stiefbach's very unnecessary rebuke, had won for her the
admiration of all the guests, most of whom were entire strangers to her.
After the close of the musicale, as pupils and guests were mingling
together, and the room was noisy with animated conversation, Miss
Christine went up to Marion, who was standing in a retired corner of the
room talking to M. Béranger, and taking her hand said:--
"Marion, now that we are apparently unobserved I must tell you how sorry
I was that Miss Stiefbach should have spoken so severely to you. I am
sure she was not aware how unkind it seemed; she did not intend to hurt
your feelings, and probably thought from your apparent calmness that you
were really not at all nervous, and that dropping your music was nothing
but carelessness and want of interest."
Marion made no reply, her lips seemed glued together, and Miss Christine
continued:--
"I was surprised that Georgie should have played the Polonaise. I rarely
speak of the faults of one girl to another, and perhaps I ought not now,
but I must say, I did not think I had a scholar who would be so unkind
as to choose a piece she knew one of her companions had chosen."
The rebuke intended for Georgie struck directly home to Marion. She had
been struggling with herself ever since Miss Christine had stood there,
knowing that she ought, before the evening was over, to tell her teacher
the unworthy part she had acted; now every sense of honor and justice
compelled her to do so. But directly beside her stood M. Béranger, and
her pride rebelled at being again disgraced in his eyes, for his
kindness and forbearance, ever since their first lesson, had won for
him her sincere esteem and regard. The struggle was severe, but
momentary, for raising her eyes to Miss Christine, she said:--
"It was a very contemptible thing, Miss Christine; nothing but an
intense desire for revenge could have induced me to select a piece I
knew Georgie had previously chosen."
"You, Marion!" exclaimed Miss Christine; nothing else, just that
exclamation; but the tone of her voice cut Marion more deeply than any
harsh rebuke could have done.
"Yes, Miss Christine, I chose it, knowing that Georgie had practised it
on purpose to play it to-night. I thought as I was to play first I
should be able to disconcert her. I am heartily ashamed of myself; my
disgrace was nothing but what I deserved."
For a moment there was silence. Miss Christine was shocked to find
Marion could have done such a thing. Sarcastic, haughty, disagreeable to
her companions in many ways, she had known her to be, but mean never;
she could not understand it.
If she had known the disgraceful part Georgie had really taken in the
affair; if she had heard of the eaves-dropping of which she had been
guilty in the school-room, to punish which had been quite as great an
inducement for Marion's conduct as a desire for revenge, she would have
felt very differently; but of that Marion said nothing. But Miss
Christine was too kind-hearted, and understood her pupil too well to
speak sternly to her; besides, she knew it must have cost Marion a
severe struggle to exonerate Georgie at the expense of herself, and
doubly so in the presence of M. Béranger. In fact, when the first shock
of surprise had passed off, she felt that the nobleness of Marion's
expiation had atoned for her fault, and she could not help thinking that
there were many girls in the school who would have held their tongues,
and been only too glad to thrust the blame on to one who was so
intensely disagreeable to them.
These thoughts flashed through Miss Christine's mind in a moment, and
holding out her hand, she said in her kindest tones;--
"My dear Marion, I am sure this is the last time you will ever do
anything so unworthy of yourself."
Marion's only reply was a warm pressure of that dear hand, as she turned
and left the room.
"Do you not judge Mlle. Berkley too hasteelie?" whispered M. Béranger.
"There is something behind all this, which you do not yet perceive. I
feel verie sure that Mees Georgie do know more tan she do tell."