“I don’t know,” and Lady Jane looked puzzled. “It was just the ranch. It was in the country, and there were fields and fields, and a great many horses, and sheep, and lambs—dear little lambs!”
“Then the lady you live with is not your mama,” said Mam’selle Diane casually, while she twisted the sealing-wax into the shape of the foot.
“Oh, no, she’s my Tante Pauline. My mama has gone away, but Pepsie says she’s sure to come back before Christmas; and it’s not very long now till Christmas.” The little face grew radiant with expectation.
“And you like music?” said Mam’selle Diane, with a sigh; she saw how it was, and she pitied the motherless darling from the bottom of her tender heart.
“Didn’t you ever hear me sing when I used to stand close to the window?” Lady Jane leaned across Mam’selle Diane’s table, and looked at her with a winsome smile. “I sang as loud as I could, so you’d hear me; I thought, perhaps, you’d let me in.”
“Dear little thing!” returned Mam’selle Diane, caressingly. Then she turned and spoke in French to her mother: “You know, mama, I wanted to ask her in before, but you thought she might meddle with my wools and annoy me; but she’s not troublesome at all. I wish I could teach her music when I have time.”
Lady Jane glanced from one to the other gravely and anxiously. “I’m learning French,” she said; “Pepsie’s teaching me, and when I learn it you can always talk to me in French. I know some words now.”
Mam’selle Diane smiled. “I was telling mama that I should like to teach you music. Would you like to learn?”
“What, to play on the piano?” and the child’s eyes glistened with delight.
“Yes, to play and sing, both.”