"You must bring it round," cried Emmy.

But when Septimus, prevailed on by her entreaties, did appear with the
instrument in Mrs. Oldrieve's drawing-room, he made such unearthly and
terrific noises that Mrs. Oldrieve grew pale and Zora politely but firmly
took it from his hands and deposited it in the umbrella-stand in the hall.

"I hope you don't mind," she said.

"Oh, dear, no," said Septimus mildly. "I could never make out why anybody
liked it."

Seeing that Septimus had a sentimental side to his character, Emmy
gradually took him into her confidence, until Septimus knew things that
Zora did not dream of. Zora, who had been married, and had seen the world
from Nunsmere Pond to the crater of Mount Vesuvius, treated her sister with
matronly indulgence, as a child to whom Great Things were unrevealed. She
did not reckon with the rough-and-tumble experiences of life which a girl
must gain from a two years' battle on the stage. In fact, she did not
reckon with any of the circumstances of Emmy's position. She herself was
too ignorant, too much centered as yet in her own young impulses and
aspirations, and far too serene in her unquestioning faith in the
impeccability of the Oldrieve family. To her Emmy was still the
fluffy-haired little sister with caressing ways whom she could send
upstairs for her work-basket or could reprimand for a flirtation. Emmy knew
that Zora loved her dearly; but she was the least bit in the world afraid
of her, and felt that in affairs of the heart she would be unsympathetic.
So Emmy withheld her confidence from Zora, and gave it to Septimus.
Besides, it always pleases a woman more to tell her secrets to a man than
to another woman. There is more excitement in it, even though the man be as