and tinkling in her ear. She dusted mechanically, picking up one cheap
ornament after another--leaving the collection upon the piano until the
last, in the hope that by the time she reached it the thirst for
music would have departed from the performer. But Mrs. Rainham's tea
appointment was not yet; she was thoroughly enjoying herself, the charm
of her own execution added to the knowledge that Cecilia was miserable,
and Bob waiting somewhere, with what patience he might. She held on
to the bitter end, while the girl dusted the piano's burden with a set
face. Then she finished a long and painful run, and shut the piano with
a bang.

"There--I've had quite a nice practice, and it isn't often the
drawing-room gets really decently dusted," she remarked. "Nothing like
the eye of the mistress; I think I must practise every day while you are
dusting, Cecilia. Oh, and, Cecilia, give the legs of the piano a good
rubbing. Dear me, I must go and dress."

Cecilia dragged herself upstairs a few minutes later. All the spring was
gone out of her; it really did not seem to matter much now whether she
met Bob or not; she was too tired to care. This was only a sample of
many days; so it had been for two years--so it would be for two more,
until she was twenty-one, and her own mistress. But it did not seem
possible that she could endure through another two years.

She reached her own room, and was about to shut the door, when the harsh
voice rasped upwards.

"Cecilia! Cecilia! Come here a minute."

The girl went down slowly. Mrs. Rainham was standing before her mirror.