Part 1 (2/2)
”Oh, yes,” said he, most good-naturedly.
”The serenade?” she ventured to hint.
”Oh, not the serenade!” said he, with a laugh. ”Every butcher's boy in the streets whistles it.”
”All England is singing it--and a good thing, too,” she made answer; and then she said, with some emphasis: ”I am sure no one rejoices more than myself at the great popularity of 'The Squire's Daughter.' I am very glad to see that a comedy-opera may be based on the best traditions of English music; and I hope we shall have a great deal less of the Offenbach tinkle-tankle.”
”The serenade, if you like, then,” said he, with, careless good-humor; what did it matter to him?
”And whom shall I get to play an accompaniment for you?”
”Oh, you needn't trouble; I can do that for myself--”
”But you must make one young lady supremely happy,” said she, with insidious flattery.
He glanced round the studio.
”I see Miss Lestrange over there--she has played it for me before--without the music, I mean.”
”Then I'll go and fetch her,” said the indefatigable hostess; and now everybody seemed to know that Mr. Lionel Moore was about to sing ”The Starry Night.”
Miss Georgie Lestrange was no sooner appealed to than she came through the crowd, smiling and laughing. She was an exceedingly pretty la.s.s, with fresh-complexioned cheeks, a pert and attractive nose, a winsome mouth, and merry blue eyes that were hardly made grave by the _pince-nez_ that she habitually wore. She was very prettily dressed, too--in blue-and-silver brocade, with a high Medici collar of silver lace, puffed sleeves with twisted cords of silver, and silver fillets binding the abundant ma.s.ses of her ruddy-golden hair. She sat down at the piano, and the first notes of the accompaniment deepened the silence that now prevailed, not only in this big studio, but throughout the communicating rooms.
Probably there was not a human being in the place who had not heard this serenade sung a dozen times over, for it was the most popular air of the most popular piece then being played in London; but there was some kind of novelty in listening to the same notes that had thrilled through the theatre (rather, that had sent their pa.s.sionate appeal up to a certain mysterious balcony, in the dim moonlight of the stage) now pulsating through the hushed silence of these modern rooms. Lionel Moore was not a baritone of altogether rare and exceptional gifts, otherwise he might hardly have been content with even the popularity and the substantial rewards of comic opera; but he had a very excellent voice for all that, of high range, and with a resonant and finely sympathetic _timbre_ that seemed easily to find its way (according to all accounts) to the feminine heart. And the music of this serenade was really admirable, of subtle and delicate quality, and yet full of the simplest melody, and perhaps none the less to be appreciated that it seemed to suggest a careful study of the best English composers. The words were conventional enough, of course; but then the whole story of ”The Squire's Daughter”
was as artificial as the wigs and powder and patches of the performers; and even now, when Harry Thornhill, bereft of all his gay silk and lace and ruffles, and become plain Mr. Lionel Moore, in ordinary evening dress, sang to Miss Georgie Lestrange's accompaniment, the crowd did not think of the words--they were entranced by the music. ”The starry night”--this is how Harry Thornhill, in the opera, addresses Grace Mainwaring, he standing in the moonlit garden and looking up to her window--
”The starry night brings me no rest; My ardent love now stands confessed; Appear, my sweet, and shame the skies, That have no splendor, That have no splendor like thine eyes!”
The serenade was followed by a general murmur of approbation, rather than by any loud applause; but the pretty Mrs. Mellord came up to the singer and was most profuse of thanks. Prudently, however, he moved away from the piano, being accompanied by Miss Georgie Lestrange, who seemed rather pleased with the prominence this position gave her; and very soon a surrept.i.tious message reached them both that they were wanted below.
When they went down into the hall they found that Lady Adela had got her party collected, including Miss Lestrange's brother Percy; thereupon the four ladies got into the brougham and drove off, while the three gentlemen proposed to follow on foot, and have a cigarette the while. It was a pleasantly warm night, and they had no farther to go than Sir Hugh Cunyngham's house, which is one of the large garden-surrounded mansions on the summit of Campden Hill.
When at length they arrived there and had entered by the wooden gate, the semicircular carriage-drive, lit by two solitary lamps, and the front of the house itself, half-hidden among the black trees, seemed somewhat sombre and repellent at this silent hour of the morning; but they found a more cheerful radiance streaming out from the hall-door, which had been left open for them; and when they went into the large dining-room, where the ladies had already a.s.sembled, there was no lack of either light or color there, for all the candles were ablaze, and the long table was brilliant with silver and Venetian gla.s.s and flowers.
And, indeed, this proved to be a very merry and talkative supper-party; for, as soon as supper was served, the servants were sent off to bed; Lord Rockminster const.i.tuted himself butler, and Percy Lestrange handed round the pheasants' eggs and asparagus and such things; so that there was no alien ear in the room. Lionel Moore, being less familiar with the house, was exempted from these duties; in truth, it was rather the women-folk who waited upon him--and petted him as he was used to be petted, wherever that fortunate young man happened to go.
However, it was not supper that was chiefly occupying the attention of this band of eager chatterers (from whom the silent Lord Rockminster, walking gravely round the table with a large jug of champagne-cup in his hand, must honorably be distinguished), it was the contemplated production of a little musical entertainment called ”The Chaplet,” by Dr. Boyce, which they were about to attempt, out-of-doors, on some afternoon still to be fixed, and before a select concourse of friends.
And the most vivacious of the talkers was the red-headed and merry-eyed young maiden in blue silver and brocade, who seemed incapable of keeping her rosebud of a mouth closed for more than a minute at a time.
”I do think it's awfully hard on me,” she was protesting. ”Look how I'm handicapped! Everybody knows that Pastora was played by Kitty Olive; and everybody will say, 'That Lestrange girl has cheek, hasn't she? thinks she can play Kitty Olive's parts!' And you know Pastora is always calling attention to her fascinating appearance.”
”Georgie, you're fis.h.i.+ng for compliments!” the young matron said, severely.
”No, I'm not, Adela,” said Miss Lestrange, who, indeed, looked as charming as any Kitty Olive could ever have done. ”Then there's another thing: fancy my having to sing a duet with Mr. Moore! It's all very well for you to sing a song off your own bat--”
”That _would_ be difficult, Georgie,” Lady Adela observed.
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