She locked herself into her own room, feeling very miserable, and would not have gone down stairs again if she had not been sent for, after the company had returned to the parlors.
She did not dare to disobey, so she went, and sat down in a corner by the piano, where she hoped she should be out of sight.
A pleasant-faced lady, sitting near, turned, and said,-- "Don't you play, my dear ?" "A little," said Gypsy, wishing she could have truthfully said no.
"I wish you would play for me," said the lady.
"Oh, I shouldn't like to," said Gypsy, shrinking; "I don't know anything but Scotch airs." "That is just what I like," said the lady.

"Mrs.Breynton, can't you persuade your niece to play a little for me ?" "Certainly, Gypsy," said her aunt, with a look which plainly said, "Don't think of it." Gypsy's mother had taught her that it was both disobliging and affected to refuse to play when she was asked, no matter how simple her music might be.

So, not knowing how to refuse, and wishing the floor would open and swallow her up, she went to the piano, and played two sweet Scotch airs.
She played them well for a girl of her age, and the lady thanked her, and seemed to enjoy them.

But that night, just as she was going to bed, she accidentally overheard her aunt saying to Joy,-- "It was very stupid and forward in her.

I tried to make her understand, but I couldn't--those little songs, too! Why, with all your practice, and such teachers as you have had, I wouldn't think of letting you play before anybody at your age." Gypsy cried herself to sleep that night.
Just a week from the day that she came to Boston, Gypsy and Joy were out shopping in Summer Street.