Suddenly their silence bore down upon Ida's absent-mindedness, she felt
rather than saw that something was the matter, and she got up, in the
middle of one of Mr. George Powler's fluent but badly constructed
sentences, and going over to Isabel asked her to play something.
Isabel flushed.
"Oh, you had better sing," she said; "Mr. Powler would like that
better, _I'm_ sure."
"Oh, yes; please do!" pleaded the man; and Ida, trying to conceal her
weariness and distaste, went to the piano and sang the shortest song
she knew.
Her acquiescence was unfortunate in its result, for it completed in Mr.
George Powler's bosom the havoc which her face and voice had wrought.
He pressed her to sing again, beat time with his large hand and badly
groomed head, and was enthusiastic in his praises and seemed so
disappointed when she refused, that he seconded her appeal to Isabel
with an obviously forced politeness.
Isabel went to the piano, but she was at no time a very brilliant
performer, and the poor girl was so upset by Ida's unconscious and
unwilling superiority, that she broke down in the middle of one of
those hideous drawing-room pieces which seem specially "arranged" for
the torture of those who are blessed or cursed with musical taste.
The conversation naturally lagged and languished under these
circumstances, and Mr. George Powler presently rose to take his leave.
He was not asked to remain to dinner though Mrs. Heron had intended
inviting him, and had made secret and flurried preparations. He shook
hands with Ida with marked _empressement_ and nervousness, and seemed
as if he could scarcely tear himself away.
When he had gone the mother and daughter sat bolt upright in their
chairs and stared before them in a pregnant silence; and Ida, wondering
what was the matter, was about to leave the room, when Mrs. Heron said
in a hard, thin voice: "One moment, Ida, if you please."
Ida paused at the door with her book in her hand, startled from her
dreaminess by the woman's tone and manner.
"You had better close the door, Ida. I should not like the servants to
overhear what it is my duty to say to you."
Ida closed the door and stood expectantly, and Mrs. Heron continued: "I trust I am not one to find fault unnecessarily. I know it is the
duty of a Christian to be patient and long-suffering; but there is a
limit to one's endurance, and I regret to say that you have passed that
limit. I should not be fulfilling my duty to a young person who is
under my charge if I refrained from pointing out to you that your
conduct, since you have been under our roof, has been reprehensible and
disgraceful."