be some excuse for being at the bottom of his form most of the time. None of us think of him as 'interesting.'"
"That is just the trouble. Every one of you thinks the same about Finch, and in consequence he feels himself inferior—the ugly duckling. You are like a flock of sheep, all jumping the one way."
Her enthusiasm for Finch made her forget her usual dignified reticence, and with it her embarrassment. She looked at him squarely and accusingly.
"And you look on me as the bell-weather, eh? If you turn my woolly wooden head in another direction, the others will follow. I am to believe that Finch will turn out to be the swan, then?"
"I should not be surprised."
"And you think his soul needs scales and finger exercises?"
"Please do not make fun of me."
"I shall have the family in my wool, you know. They'll hate the strumming."
"They will get used to it. Finch is important, though none of you may think so."
"What makes you sure he has musical talent?"
"I am not sure. But I know he appreciates music, and I think he is worth the experiment. Did you ever watch his face when your Uncle Nicholas is playing?"
"No."
"Well, he is playing now. From here you can see Finch quite clearly. Isn't his expression beautiful, revealing?"
Renny stared across the room at his young brother.
"He looks rather idiotic to me," he said, "with his jaw dropped and his head stuck forward."
"Oh, you are hopeless!" she said, angrily.
"No, I'm not. He's going to have his music and I am going to endure the curses of the family. But for
