Her Audience of Two
NE—two—three—four. One—two—three—four.
Ernestine's fingers thumped out the time on the old piano, and the tired instrument, worn by the assaults of three generations of small girls, responded with a senile tinkle that was half a squeak. Sister Cecilia may have caught a peculiar touch of depression in the labored repetition as she was passing the music-room. A sudden impulse led her to the door, though the sound made her sensitive nerves wince. It was the duty of her subordinates to supervise the practice of beginners. They seldom came in contact with the Sister whose fame reached far beyond the convent walls, within which her gently autocratic sway in the department of music was supreme. It was her province to criticise the more advanced pupils, to train the voices of the nuns, to direct the convent choir, and, in what leisure remained from these occupations,
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