“How well you play!” exclaimed Jessica with eager admiration in her voice, as Eleanor turned around on the stool after she had finished.  “I should love to hear you play on the violin.  Anne heard you the other night, and told us about it.”

“I love the violin better than the piano, but it sounds better with a piano accompaniment.  Don’t you girls play?”

“Jessica does,” chorused her friends.

“Oh, I never could play, after hearing Eleanor,” said Jessica blushing.

“Come on,” said Eleanor, taking her by the arm and dragging her over to the piano.  “You can accompany me.  What do you play?”

“Do you know Raff’s ’Cavatina’?” asked Jessica a trifle shyly.

“By heart,” answered Eleanor.  “I love it.  Wait and I’ll get the music for you.”

After a moment’s search she produced the music, picked up her violin, and, after tightening a string, announced herself ready.

The girls listened, spellbound.  It seemed as though Eleanor’s very soul had entered into the violin.  They could not believe that this was the capricious Eleanor of half an hour before.

“Whatever she may do in future,” thought Grace, as she listened to the last plaintive notes of the “Cavatina,” “I’ll forgive her for her music’s sake.  One has to make allowances for people like her.  It is the claim of the artistic temperament.”

“Please play once more,” begged Nora.  “Then we must go.  It’s almost six o’clock.”

Eleanor chose Nevin’s “Venetian Love Song,” and Jessica again accompanied her.

“You play with considerable expression,” said Eleanor, as Jessica rose from the piano stool.

“How could I help it?” replied Jessica, smiling.  “You inspired me.”

Eleanor accompanied the four girls down the walk to the gate and repeatedly invited them to come again.

“It’s your turn to come and see us now,” said Grace.  “Do you think you will go to school to-morrow, Eleanor?  Miss Thompson dislikes having the girls stay out.”

“I can’t help what Miss Thompson dislikes,” returned Eleanor, laughing.  “What I dislike is of more importance to me.  I dare say I shall go to-morrow, providing I get up in time.”

“What an irresponsible girl Eleanor is,” remarked Anne, as they walked along.  “I am afraid we can’t do much for her.  She doesn’t seem much interested in school and I don’t think she is particularly impressed with our sorority.”

“Anne,” said Jessica, “you have seen Miss Nevin, her aunt.  Tell us how she looks.”

“She is tall,” replied Anne, “and has beautiful dark eyes.  Her hair is very white, but her face looks young, only she has the saddest expression I ever saw on any one’s face.”

“I should think she would look sad after seventeen years of Eleanor’s whims,” remarked Nora bluntly.  “It would wear me out to be with her continually, she is so changeable.”

“Mrs. Gray told me,” remarked Anne, “that Miss Nevin’s life had been one long sacrifice to the pleasure of others.  First her father, then her step-sister and now Eleanor.  She was engaged to be married to a young English officer, and he died of fever while stationed in India.  So, there is reason for her sad expression.”