Part 10 (1/2)
”I sing only to friends. I cannot sing, I have never sung, to persons in whom I have no confidence.”
”Afraid! What a little goose!”
”Not afraid, exactly.”
”I don't comprehend, I am sure.”
”I do not expect you should.”
”I never did understand you.”
”You never will.” Silence again.
Flora tuned up, and, of all tunes, she must needs hum _my_ song. I was on my feet in a moment to depart, when I heard the clear tones of Etty's voice again, and stood still, with one foot advanced.
”Flora, you should sharp that third note in the last line.”
Flora murdered it again, with the most atrocious, cold-blooded cruelty. I almost mocked the sound aloud in my pa.s.sion.
”I do not tell you to vex you, only I saw that Mr. Ratcliffe--”
”You need not trouble yourself about _his_ opinion.”
”I knew you would not like it, if I told you of a mistake. But I supposed you would rectify it, and I should have done you a kindness, even against your will.”
”And I to hate you for it, eh?”
”If you can.”
”Indeed I cannot, Etty, for you are my very best friend. But you are a horrid, truth-telling, formidable body. Why not let me sing on, my own way? I don't thank you a bit. I had rather sing it wrong, than be corrected. It hurts my pride. I think people should take my music as they find it. If it does not please them, they are not obliged to ask me to sing. One note wrong can surely be put up with, if the rest is worth hearing. I shall continue to sing it as I have done, I think.”
”No,--please don't!”
”If I will mend it when I think of it, will you sing a duet?”
”Yes, though it will cost me more than you know.”
”Poh!” And Flora sang the song, without accompaniment. The desired sharp rung upon my ears, and set my nerves at rest.
”Bravo! Encore!” I cried, beneath the window, and was pelted with peach-stones.
I wonder when this duet is to come off.
_Sept. 27th_. Have not stirred from the house. But I have not heard any voice but Flora's. She has been uncommonly amiable and fascinating, and I--am I not rather bewitched? I cannot keep my resolution of not being flirted with. I cannot be wise, and reserved, and indifferent. Am I trifling? Or am I in earnest? Indeed I don't know. I only know I am constantly at the side of Little Handsome, without knowing how I came there. She makes me sing with her, ride with her, walk with her, at her will, and as if that was not enough for one day, to test her power over me, to-night she made me dance with her. And now I feel like a fool as I think of Etty playing a waltz for us, at Flora's request, and giving me a long, serious look as I approached the piano to compliment her playing. I could not utter a word. I answered her gaze with one as sober, and more sad, and came away to my room, to have some talk with my real self. Now for it.
Says I to Myself, ”A truce to your upbraidings, you old scold; tell me at once how you find yourself affected towards this charming little Flora.”
Says Myself, ”There are no tastes in common between her and me.”
Says I, quickly, ”Music!” and triumphed a moment or two.