“Ah!” said Mr Waring, taking the cigarette from his lips and sending a larger puff of smoke into the dim air; “very different indeed, Frances. It is anything but a game to hear Miss Tasie play.” “She says,” continued Frances, with a certain constriction in her throat, “that every lady is expected to play--to play a little at least, even if she has not much taste for it. She thinks when we go home--that all our relations will be so surprised----” She stopped, having no breath to go further, and watched as well as she could, through the dimness and through the mist of agitation in her own eyes, her father’s face. He made no sign; he did not disturb even the easy balance of his foot, stretched out along the pavement. After another pause, he said in the same indifferent tone, “As we are not going home, and as you have no relations in particular, I don’t think your friend’s argument is very strong. Do you?” “O papa, I don’t want indeed to be inquisitive or trouble you, but I should like to know!” “What?” he said, with the same composure. “If I think that a lady, whether she has any musical taste or not, ought to play? Well, that is a very simple question. I don’t, whatever Miss Tasie may say.” “It is not that,” Frances said, regaining a little control of herself. “I said I did not know of any relations we had. But Tasie said there must be cousins; we must have cousins--everybody has cousins. That is true, is it not?” “In most cases, certainly,” Mr Waring said; “and a great nuisance too.” “I don’t think it would be a nuisance to have people about one’s own age, belonging to one--not strangers--people who were interested in you, to whom you could say anything. Brothers and sisters, that would be the best; but cousins--I think, papa, cousins would be very nice.” “I will tell you, if you like, of one cousin you have,” her father said. The heart of Frances swelled as if it would leap out of her breast. She put her hands together, turning full round upon him in an attitude of supplication and delight. “O papa!” she cried with enthusiasm, breathless for his next word. “Certainly, if you wish it, Frances. He is in reality your first-cousin. He is fifty. He is a great sufferer from gout. He has lived so well in the early part of his life, that he is condemned to slops now, and spends most of his time in an easy-chair. He has the temper of a demon, and swears at everybody that comes near him. He is very red in the face, very bleared about the eyes, very----” “O papa!” she cried, in a very different tone. She was so much disappointed, that the sudden downfall had almost a physical effect upon her, as if she had fallen from a height. Her father laughed softly while she gathered all her strength together to regain command of herself, and the laugh had a jarring effect upon her nerves, of which she had never been conscious till now.