Part 9 (2/2)
”How wholesale of you! Are you sure you mean it? From what I have seen, I should imagine you would hardly be satisfied with one.”
In dealing with such a very outspoken young lady, it seemed best to reply in the same strain, but Hope marvelled inwardly at the eccentricities of human nature. Imagine--just imagine--being ”interested” in somebody, and confiding the fact to a stranger the very first time one spoke to her! It would be difficult enough to speak of it even to Theo, her lifelong friend and companion; but to a stranger-- it was incredible! She studied the girl's dark face with curious eyes as they walked downstairs, while the men gathered round the fireplace below, watched them as they approached, and admired the pretty picture.
They made a charming contrast--the sparkling brunette in her amber draperies, and the tall figure in the black dress, with the sweet pink-and-white face.
Directly after dinner Mrs Loftus sent Hope to the piano, and the girl sat down unaffectedly, and played several pieces in succession, to the complete satisfaction of the company, who apparently found it much more agreeable to discourse to music than without it. Mr Merrilies, indeed, did stroll across the room, to stand by her side and say ”Thank you” at the conclusion, as if he meant what he said; but from a general point of view the performance was a failure, and Mrs Loftus felt disappointed.
Hope had been invited with the especial intent of providing amus.e.m.e.nt for her guests, and if she failed to do so there was really no reason for her presence.
”Sing something to us, Hope,” said Mrs Loftus imperiously. ”Sing some of your own songs.--Miss Charrington has composed some charming little things,” she explained to the company at large, who murmured politely in response.
”Compose? How wonderful of you! How do you manage to do it?” queried Truda eagerly, while the fair youth pulled his moustache and looked at Hope as if she were a wild animal escaped from the Zoo, and Uncle Loftus began humming what he fondly supposed to be the air of ”The Song of Sleep” to his companion on the sofa.
Plainly, the best thing to do was to begin at once before the situation grew more embarra.s.sing, so Hope broke into the accompaniment of song number one, a simple but taking little production which had been published two years before. It was greeted with applause, so spontaneous and genuine that it could not fail to be inspiriting. Hope forgot to be nervous, and sang ”Pack Clouds Away” in her best style, sweetly, smoothly, and with that distinctness of enunciation which is so rare a charm. More applause followed, more exclamations of appreciation, more queries as to how she did it, and then Uncle Loftus must needs begin humming again, and put in a request for ”The sleepy one, you know--the one you wrote to order. That is the gem of the collection, in my opinion. We should like to hear the sleepy one, my dear.”
Now, as it happened, Hope was by no means anxious to grant this request, for the idea which Miss Caldecott had so slightly suggested had appealed very strongly to her sensitive nature, and she had put into it her best work, with the hope that when listening to it its hearers might feel something of the same thrill, the same earnestness, which she had experienced in its composition. She had never been able to go through it unmoved, and it seemed almost sacrilege to sing it in this room full of noisy strangers, who would miss its point, and at best p.r.o.nounce it ”sweetly pretty.” She tried to protest, to declare that she had already monopolised the piano too long, but it was of no avail. The more she hung back, the more eager became her audience. ”The sooner begun, the sooner it's done,” she said to herself, with a sigh of resignation, and began to sing forthwith.
Theo had clothed the idea in simple and touching words, and Hope had seconded her with something akin to inspiration; the last few lines, with their subtle change of key, containing an effect at once charming and pathetic. ”So to us all comes the end of the day,” Bang Hope softly--so softly that the crackle of the firewood sounded loudly in the ears of the listeners:
”So to us all comes the end of the day.
When our playmates are lost, and our toys cast away; Tired children of earth, when the shadows fall deep, The Father in Heaven will grant to us--sleep!”
The pause before the last word gave to it an added emphasis, and Hope let her hands fall on her lap with a sigh of pent-up emotion. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears; but there were no signs of emotion in the audience.
”How sweetly pretty!” cried Truda in the very accents which the singer had heard in imagination.
”I say! Quite touching, isn't it?” said the youth with the fair moustache.
There was a babel of ”Thanks--thanks awfully!” and Aunt Loftus said graciously, ”You must be tired, my dear. Come and sit down. We must really give you a rest.”
For five minutes afterwards Hope was the centre of an admiring throng, and tasted the bitter-sweet of an applause which failed to appreciate the true merit of her work. It was pleasant enough, so far as it went, but it left a disappointed ache behind, and she was not sorry when Truda a.s.serted her rights, and by means of a trick with a lead pencil, a piece of paper, and a hand-gla.s.s succeeded once more in gathering the company round herself.
Hope remained on the outside of the circle, a little tired after her exertions, and thankful for a moment's breathing-s.p.a.ce. As she stood she became conscious of a steady gaze levelled upon her from the other end of the room. Mr Merrilies had not taken up a position with the other men, but was leaning against the mantelpiece, studying her face with a grave, intent questioning. For a moment each looked deep into the other's eyes; the rest of the figures in the room seemed to fade away, and these two saw each other as they really were, shorn of all the pretence and artificiality of society.
”It is true,” he said to himself: ”her mind is as lovely as her face.
She could not have composed that song--she could not have sung it as she did--if she were not everything that is sweet and good. _Hope_! I wonder--I wonder if--at last--”
He raised his arm from the mantelpiece and walked forward to join the group by the table, while Hope shrank still farther into the shadow.
Her cheeks flushed, her heart beat with an unaccustomed quickening. ”I believe,” she said to herself--”I believe he understood!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
NEW FRIENDs.h.i.+PS.
Three days pa.s.sed, and Hope thoroughly enjoyed the novel experience of life in a crowded and constantly changing household. Certain of the guests were fixtures, among whom were numbered Truda Bennett, Mr Merrilies, and the fair and facetious Reggie Blake; but for the rest, every day saw fresh arrivals, fresh departures, all involving a certain amount of extra work to the busy servants. Hope could not help realising the truth of Madge's shrewd surmise that she had been asked to make herself of use, for her aunt did not foil to claim her services a dozen times a day. She arranged the flowers, decorated the dinner-table, answered business letters, made up and unpacked parcels, and, in short, discharged all the little duties which ordinarily fall upon the daughter of the house.
The work kept her more or less separate from the rest of the party, and there were occasions when she listened longingly to the bursts of laughter which sounded from the hall or from the billiard-room when on a wet day the resourceful Truda organised a billiard tournament for the entertainment of the men. But for the most part she was delighted to be of use, to watch her aunt's hard manner gradually soften into something closely approaching affection, and to receive from time to time one of her cousin's rare caresses. Avice never offered to take any part in the work, but the listless eyes noted more than was imagined; and looking back over the day's history, Hope often realised that it was to a quiet word or suggestion from Avice's lips that she owed what little pleasure came her way.
With Mr Merrilies she had few opportunities of conversation, for he was out shooting all day long; and in the evening Truda claimed him for her own, and allowed him no chance of leaving her side. She had dozens of what she called ”parlour tricks,” and every evening produced some new device to attract attention. Now it was a ring slung on a piece of string, which must be separated without undoing the knot; now a feat of balancing; now some marvellous thought-reading, carefully prearranged with a confederate. She was a young person whom it was impossible to ignore, who systematically made herself the centre of attraction, laughing, talking at the pitch of her voice, and gesticulating with her little ringed hands. Hope felt a curious fascination in watching Mr Merrilies' expression as he pa.s.sively played the part of a.s.sistant, and asked herself curiously if he returned Truda's feeling of ”especial interest”. Impossible to say. His inscrutable face was no index to his feelings, but if he showed no special pleasure in being thus singled out, he at least made no effort to escape it. In spite of the warning which she had received, Hope could not help feeling more interest in this man than in any other member of the party; and she realised, with a little thrill of satisfaction, that the interest was mutual. If she took advantage of an un.o.bserved moment to study him, he lost no opportunity of watching her in return, and the knowledge that his dark eyes were fixed on her as she talked, and sang, and moved about the room filled her with a new and delightful self-consciousness.
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