These Delights by Sara Seale

one day I make the artiste—yes?”
    “Dear me!” murmured Lady Sale, and glanced at her daughter with a comprehending eye. “Well, I expect you are quite right, only I shouldn’t count your chickens before they are hatched, if I were you.”
    “Count chickens? What has that to do with a pianist?” asked Lou, bewildered.
    “It means, Lo u , you should not count on being a great artiste until you are one,” explained Vicky, tossing back the heavy lo ck of hair that would fall into her eyes. “But, Lady Sale, Lou is very good. Our cousin, Luke, will tell you. Is he not exceptional, Luke?”
    “Yes,” said Luke, breaking off his conversation with Diana. “You should certainly hear Lou play, Lady Sale, his ability is rather remarkable.”
    “Really?” said Lady Sale, while Diana moved impatiently.
    “Perhaps the little boy would play at one of the village concerts,” suggested Mrs. Walker archly. “A child performer is always popular, you know.”
    Vicky shook her head vehemently, her eyes very green. “Oh, no, no, no, that would not do at all,” she said. “Lou is not ready for a public appearance. It would be very bad for him. Louis Dalcroix would not approve at all.”
    Mrs. Walker looked offended, but Lady Sale nodded approval.
    “Very sensible,” she said. “We don’t want to give our budding Paderewski too big ideas, do we?”
    “That is not what I meant,” began Vicky, but Sir Harry gave her hair a pull and told her she was neglecting him.
    “After tea,” he said, “I’m going to show you my roses. We’ll just give them all the slip, eh?”
    Lady Sale turned to speak to Hester, but all the time she talked, she watched the two girls. In their brief cotton frocks they looked fresh, and English enough, if it had not been for their odd, Slavonic faces. Pauline, with her braided hair, looked nearly as old as Vicky, she thought, and out of the tail of her eye she saw the older girl lean forward to say something to Luke, placing an eager hand on his knee, and watched the warmth of his smile as he replied.
    Tea was cl eared away, and Sir Harry took Vicky off to see his roses. Mrs. Walker said she must be going, and Lady Sale suggested that Lou and Pauline should explore the water-garden at the bottom of the lawn. Having disposed of everyone satisfactorily, she settled down to talk to the Merrits.
    “Your little cousins are quite unusual, Luke,” she said. “But how you’ve sprung them on us! We knew nothing about any foreign relations until they had practically arrived.”
    “They aren’t foreign at all, Lady Sale,” replied Luke, smiling. “Both their parents were English, and they’ve lived abroad so long, principally because their father was an artist who prefe r red to live in a sunny land.”
    “Really? They have a foreign turn of phrase sometimes, but I suppose that would be natural. The elder girl, now? What is she going to do?”
    “I’ve no idea,” said Luke vaguely. “I imagine Vicky will have to work eventually, as there isn’t much money, but she’s very young yet.”
    “Nineteen? Ah, well, I dare say this holiday will do them a lot of good. When do they go back to France?”
    Luke was getting a little tired of the cross-examination. “That depends on their father’s health,” he replied gravely. “He’s in a sanatorium for T.B. you know.”
    “Really? How sad. But of course, these days they nearly all get cured, don’t they? It isn’t the scourge it once was. The children are healthy enough, I suppose.”
    “I think so.” Luke looked a little startled.
    “I should be a shade anxious about the little boy,” she said carelessly. “Such an odd child, and all this concentration on scales—not normal.”
    Luke’s face relaxed in a smile.
    “Oh, Lou’s normal enough,” he said. “He just happens to have been blessed with an exceptional talent.”
    Lady Sale’s expression was a little condescending. “Well, I think it’s most noble of you , Hester, to put