“Papa says I may have the chestnut to ride now.”
“You can go with me tomorrow, if you like. Only I am going to Stone Court, remember.”
“I want to ride so much, it is indifferent to me where we go.” Rosamond really wished to go to Stone Court, of all other places.
“Oh, I say, Rosy,” said Fred, as she was passing out of the room, “if you are going to the piano, let me come and play some airs with you.”
“Pray do not ask me this morning.”
“Why not this morning?”
“Really, Fred, I wish you would leave off playing the flute. A man looks very silly playing the flute. And you play so out of tune.”
“When next anyone makes love to you, Miss Rosamond, I will tell him how obliging you are.”
“Why should you expect me to oblige you by hearing you play the flute, any more than I should expect you to oblige me by not playing it?”
“And why should you expect me to take you out riding?”
This question led to an adjustment, for Rosamond had set her mind on that particular ride.
So Fred was gratified with nearly an hour’s practice of “Ar hyd y nos,” “Ye banks and braes,” and other favorite airs from his Instructor on the Flute ; a wheezy performance, into which he threw much ambition and an irrepressible hopefulness.