Explore "Frances Kane's Fortune" by L.T. Meade on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Fluff found her companion strangely dull. They reached the river, where Arnold, true to his promise, did stretch himself at full length in the long fragrant grass; and Fluff, true to her promise, touched her guitar gently, and gently, softly, and sympathetically sung a song or two. She sung about the "Auld acquaintance" who should never be forgot; she sung of "Robin Adair; " and, lastly, her clear little notes warbled out the exquisite Irish melody, "She is far from the land. " Never had Fluff sung better. She threw feeling and sympathy into her notes -- in short, she excelled herself in her desire to please. But when at the end of the third song Arnold still made no response, when not the flicker of an eyelid or the faintest dawn of a smile showed either approbation or pleasure, the spoiled child threw her guitar aside, and spoke pettishly.
"I won't amuse you any more," she said. "I don't like sulky people; I am going home to my darling Frances. She is often troubled -- oh, yes, she knows what trouble is -- but she never sulks, never!"