There they sat waiting, Aunt Maria fond and tearful, Aunt Henrietta
grim and severe. And shortly--nay, before Arthur was well settled on
the sofa, and lay pale and silent, still clinging to his step-mother's hand,
the cause of her severity came out.
"Dr. Grey, what have you been doing? Buying a new piano?"
Yes, there it was, a beautiful Erard; and Dr. Grey stood and smiled at it
with an almost childish delight, as if he had done something
exceedingly clever, which he certainly had.
"To buy a new piano--without consulting me! I never heard of such a
thing. Mrs. Grey, this is your doing!"
"She never saw it before, or knew I meant to buy it; but, now it is
bought, I hope she will like it. Try it, Christian."
His wife was deeply touched, so much so that she almost felt sorry for
Aunt Henrietta, she would have given much to bring a little brightness,
a little kindness, into that worn, restless, unhappy face, true reflection
of the nature which itself created its own unhappiness, as well as that of
all connected with it. She said, almost humbly,
"You are very good! I never had a piano of my own before. And I
hope Miss Gascoigne will enjoy it as much as I shall myself."
The soft, answer--never wasted upon fiercest wrath--threw a little oil
upon Miss Gascoigne's.
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