Earnshaw; she put on her pince-nez, and looked at it most critically, and
said,' Oh, you must see _Opal's_ work! She's done some really
_beautiful_ paintings at Brackenfield! They know how to teach
there!' I felt so squashed!"
"Mrs. Earnshaw is the limit!" agreed Merle. "The last time I went to tea
there-when you had a cold and couldn't go-she asked me to play the piano.
I'd brought my music, but I didn't like to seem too anxious, so I said
I'd rather not. 'Oh, never mind then!' she said, 'you play something,
darling!' (to Opal). And then she whispered proudly to me, 'Opal plays
magnificently since she's been to Brackenfield!' I wanted to sing out
'Cock-a-doodle-doo!' only I remembered my manners. Then a friend came in,
and she introduced us. 'This is Miss Ramsay,' she said casually, 'and
this (with immense pride) is our daughter Opal!' I felt inclined to
quote, 'Look on this picture and on that!' It was so evident which of us
he was expected to take notice of! I simply wasn't to be in it at all!"
"Opal's more decent, though, since she's been at Brackenfield.
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