When he returned earlier than usual he often found her still upon the lounge with her inevitable book, usually a novel, and then he would take her upon his lap and call her his "dear little spook, the household ghost that would soon cease to cast a shadow;" and she, with a languid curiosity, would easily beguile from him a portrayal of the scenes through which he had just passed.

She cared little for them, but from his stores of vitality and strength he imparted life to her, and without understanding why, she simply knew she was happy.
Apart from her fondness for the unreal scenes presented by the miscellaneous books she read--scenes all the more unreal because she had no experience by which to correct them--she had one other taste which promised well for the future--a sincere love of music.

She was taking lessons, but it was from a superficial teacher, who was content to give her pretty and showy pieces; and she brought even to this favorite study the desultory habits which characterized all her efforts to obtain an education.

When she sat down to her piano, however, nature was her strong ally.

Her ear was fine and correct, and her sensitive, fanciful spirit gave delicacy and originality to her touch.