house."

When Kathleen received the communication her eyes flashed with delighted
fire. She thrust the letter into her pocket and proceeded with her work.
The Irish girl looked quite happy that day; she had something to
interest her at last. Her lessons, too, were by no means distasteful.
She had a great deal of quick wit and ready perception. Hitherto she had
been taught anyhow, but now she was all keen to receive real
instruction. Her intuitions were rapid indeed; she could come to
startlingly quick conclusions, and as a rule her guesses were correct
rather than otherwise. Kathleen had a passion for music; she had never
been properly taught, but the soul of music was in her as much as it was
in David Tennant. She had a beautiful melodious voice, which had, of
course, not yet come to maturity. Just before the end of the morning she
took her first lesson in music. Her mistress was a very amiable and
clever woman of the name of Agnes Spicer. Miss Spicer put a sheet of
music before her.

"Play that," she said.

Kathleen frowned. Her delicate white fingers trembled for an instant on
the keys. She played one or two bars perforce and very badly; then she
dashed the sheet of music in an impetuous way to the floor.

"I can't," she said; "it isn't my style. May I play you something
different?"

Miss Spicer was about to refuse, but looking at the girl, whose cheeks
were flushed and eyes full of fire, she changed her mind.