Euphemia was
no giddy thing to be carried away by young men's attentions,--not
she! Sitting back comfortably in his rocking-chair, he said, "Play
something."
The young girl went to the closet and took from the top shelf an
excessively ornamented accordion,--the opulent gift of a reckless
admirer. It was so inordinately decorated, so gorgeous in the blaze of
papier mache, mother-of-pearl, and tortoise-shell on keys and keyboard,
and so ostentatiously radiant in the pink silk of its bellows that it
seemed to overawe the plainly furnished room with its splendors. "You
ought to keep it on the table in a glass vase, Phemie," said her father
admiringly.
"And have HIM think I worshiped it! Not me, indeed! He's conceited
enough already," she returned, saucily.
Mr. Harkutt again smiled his approbation, then deliberately closed his
eyes and threw his head back in comfortable anticipation of the coming
strains.
It is to be regretted that in brilliancy, finish, and even cheerfulness
of quality they were not up to the suggestions of the keys and keyboard.
The most discreet and cautious effort on the part of the young performer
seemed only to produce startlingly unexpected, but instantly suppressed
complaints from the instrument, accompanied by impatient interjections
of "No, no," from the girl herself. Nevertheless, with her pretty
eyebrows knitted in some charming distress of memory, her little mouth
half open between an apologetic smile and the exertion of working the
bellows, with her white, rounded arms partly lifted up and waving
before her, she was pleasantly distracting to the eye.
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