And at last
Edith did ask him to play. She and Olson had
plotted together, and from the very friendliest
motives agreed to play into each other's hands.
"If you only WOULD consent to play," said she,
in her own persuasive way, one day as they had
finished their lesson, "we should all be so happy.
Only think how proud we should be of your
success, for you know there is nothing you
can't do in the way of music if you really want
to."
"Do you really think so?" exclaimed he,
while his eyes suddenly grew large and luminous.
"Indeed I do," said Edith, emphatically.
"And if--if I played well," faltered he,
"would it really please you?"
"Of course it would," cried Edith, laughing;
"how can you ask such a foolish question?"
"Because I hardly dared to believe it."
"Now listen to me," continued the girl,
leaning forward in her chair, and beaming all over
with kindly officiousness; "now for once you
must be rational and do just what I tell you. I
shall never like you again if you oppose me in
this, for I have set my heart upon it; you must
promise beforehand that you will be good and
not make any objection. Do you hear?"
When Edith assumed this tone toward him,
she might well have made him promise to perform
miracles. She was too intent upon her
benevolent scheme to heed the possible
inferences which he might draw from her sudden
display of interest.
"Then you promise?" repeated she, eagerly,
as he hesitated to answer.
"Yes, I promise.
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