Then I went down to the upper parlor that they seemed to have adopted. I could...

Then I went down to the upper parlor that they seemed to have adopted. I could hear random notes from the harp, a shivery pleasant sound that plucked at old and beloved memories, just as wearing the gown did. I slipped through the door tapestry, and three faces turned toward me.
And my dear brother snorted. "Mel! Where are your wits gone begging? Why d'you have to wear an old gown thirty years out-of-date when you can have anything you want?"
I turned right around and started to leave, but Nimiar rose and sped to my side, her small hand gripping my gem-encircled wrist. "This is a lovely dress, and if it's old, what's the odds? A lady has the right to be comfortable in her own home."
Bran rubbed his chin. "Don't tell me you ever looked like "
"Oh, Branaric. Take Lord Vidanric up to dinner. I'll play afterward. The harp isn't ready yet."
"But--"
"Please," she said.
Shevraeth's lips were twitching. He jerked his chin toward the doorway and my brother followed, protesting all the way.
My eyes stung. I stood like a stone statue as Nimiar sighed then said, "Your brother is a dear, and I do love him for the way he never fears to tell the truth. But he really doesn't understand some things, does he?"
"No," I squeaked. My voice seemed to come from someone else.