Edward Phillips Oppenheim

The Black Box Edward Phillips Oppenheim

"This habit of becoming late for breakfast," Lady Ashleigh remarked, as she set down thecoffee-pot, "is growing upon your father."Ella glanced up from a pile of correspondence through which she had been looking alittle negligently."When he comes," she said, "I shall tell him what Clyde says in his new play-thatunpunctuality for breakfast and overpunctuality for dinner are two of the signs ofadvancing age.""I shouldn't," her mother advised. "He hates anything that sounds like an epigram, and Inoticed that he avoided any allusion to his birthday last month. Any news, dear?""None at all, mother. My correspondence is just the usual sort of rubbish-invitationsand gossip. Such a lot of invitations, by-the-bye.""At your age," Lady Ashleigh declared, "that is the sort of correspondence which youshould find interesting."Ella shook her head. She was a very beautiful young woman, but her expression was alittle more serious than her twenty-two years warranted."You know I am not like that, mother," she protested. "I have found one thing in lifewhich interests me more than all this frivolous business of amusing oneself. I shall neverbe happy-not really happy-until I have settled down to study hard. My music is reallythe only part of life which absolutely appeals to me."