It was now getting near to Christmas, but none of the family had yet ventured to tell Mrs. Campbell the truth concerning the singing in the church although she frequently spoke of it. In fact, ever since that Sabbath she had made a point of sending a note to Theodora whenever she heard the piano. "I know practising from music," she said in every note, "and I do not like practising." Only Christina being present at the practising interfered with the message, and many times it had been sent when it was the caller who was doing the practising. The order was always obeyed, lest it should be more offensively repeated, and to no one but Mrs. Oliphant did Theodora confide her reason for closing the instrument so promptly. The message elicited from Mrs. Oliphant scornful laughter, and the three women listening for the manner of its reception were not surprised. "They are laughing at my order," said Mrs. Campbell, "what dreadful manners Americans do have!" "Dora's manners are equally bad. She had no business to show her the note," said Isabel. "Dora is English; what can you expect?" "Dora ought to send for me when she has company," said Christina, "then she would be allowed to practise, would she not, mother?" "Christina, I am always willing to sacrifice myself for my children, and you profess to learn something from her playing." "I do, and I love to hear her play and sing. Dora has been kind to me, she isn't half bad." "Well, Christina, in all proper things I consult my children's pleasure, rather than my own comfort." Isabel said nothing, and yet Theodora had made many whist parties for her pleasure, persuading Robert to invite to them such unmarried men as would be suitable partners for his sisters in life, as well as at the whist table. These parties had always terminated with supper and music, Christina being the principal, and generally the only performer. She had taken both of the sisters out with her, dressed them for entertainments, shown them how to dress themselves, and taught them those little tricks of the toilet, which are to women at once so innocent and so indispensable. Many times these services had been rendered cheerfully when she was sick or depressed, but neither of the girls had any conception of a kindness, except as it related to themselves--how it benefited their looks or their feelings, and what results would accrue to them from it. Never once had they expressed a sense of obligation for any favor done them. They took every kindness as their right, for they heard their mother constantly assert: "Dora could never do enough for them."