Never was a prophecy better fulfilled than that of Rathborne; for
no one of the large company assembled in Mrs. Singleton's spacious
drawing-room but felt prepared to admire and approve the beautiful
young stranger, who was led to the piano by her host when the musical
programme was about half over. Everybody had an instinct that the star
of the evening had now appeared--that one who looked so proud and
confident was not likely to entertain them with a mediocre performance.
And, indeed, Marion, who had professed to scorn "all Scarborough,"
was sufficiently inspired by her audience to feel capable of doing
her best. As the first notes of the accompaniment were struck, she
threw back her head like one who answers to a challenge; and when she
opened her lips such a tide of melody rose, such crystal-clear notes,
such a flood of pure, sweet sound, that even the lowest undertone of
conversation stopped, and people held their breath to listen.
Rathborne, who had been late in arriving, and who stood just outside
one of the open windows, conveniently sheltered from observation,
smiled to himself as he watched the scene within. It was one which
gave him as much pleasure as his nature was capable of feeling. That
beautiful, stately figure beside the piano, with its regal bearing and
crown of red-gold hair, deserved to be the center of all attention; and
suited his own taste so exactly that he did not even perceive Helen's
sweet, smiling face near by. It did not surprise him that Marion sang
as he had never heard her sing before. He had read her character
accurately enough, by the light of his own, to feel sure that she would
never fail when occasion called for display.
His glance swept around the apartment, taking in the expressions
of the various faces, and finally fastening on one that was partly
sheltered behind a curtain at the end of the room. This curtain fell
between the drawing-room and a smaller apartment opening from it. Now
and then during the course of the evening a few of the oldest and
most distinguished of Mrs. Singleton's guests were admitted to the
smaller apartment, where it was understood that "old Mr. Singleton"
was established to listen to the music at his ease. It must have been
very much at his ease that he listened; for he had given no sign of
his presence or appreciation until now, when--as if Marion's clear,
ringing notes had been a spell--Rathborne observed at the opening of
the curtain a thin face, with a high, aquiline nose and white moustache.
Mrs. Singleton also observed it; and as soon as the song was ended,
leaving others to crowd around the singer and express their admiration,
she walked to the curtained arch and exchanged a few words with the
person sheltered behind it. Then, turning, she crossed the room and
deftly made her way to Marion's side.
"My dear Miss Lynde," she exclaimed, "what a pleasure you have given
us! What a delight to hear such a voice as yours! My uncle is charmed,
and he begs that you will sing again. Of course we all beg that you
will, but I give _his_ request first, because it is a very great
compliment--from him."
It was certainly a compliment which he had paid no one else; and Marion
smiled with a sense of triumph. She preserved due modesty of manner
and appearance, however, as she said: "I am exceedingly glad that I
have been able to give pleasure to Mr. Singleton; perhaps there is some
special song that he would like to hear?"
"Oh! I am sure he will like to hear anything that you sing," replied
Mrs. Singleton, who did not wish to delay the amusement of the evening
long enough to make inquiry.
So Marion sang again, with increased self-confidence and success; and
the thin, keen face appeared again at the opening of the curtains, as
if looking were no less a pleasure than listening.
But, this song over, Mrs. Singleton was too wise a hostess to encourage
any request for a third. "We must not ask too much of Miss Lynde's
kindness," she said. "Later in the evening, perhaps she will sing for
us again; and we must be reasonable. Miss Royston is going to play for
us now."
Miss Royston, a tall, angular young lady, whose elbows seemed unduly
developed, took her seat on the piano-stool, struck a few crashing
cords, and began a sonata. Being fresh from a conservatory of music,
and having a severely classical taste, she was understood to be a very
fine musician--a fact taken on trust by most of those who composed
her present audience; but very soon a conversational murmur began to
be heard; those who were near windows slipped out on the veranda "to
enjoy the cool air while they listened," and there was no longer any
glimpse of the aquiline nose and white moustache at the opening of the
_portières_.
Marion, who had not been conscious of this brief, partial appearance
of the invalid recluse, for whose amusement the entertainment had been
arranged, whispered to Helen, by whom she sat down: "I wonder how Mr.
Singleton likes this?"
"Not as well as your singing, I am sure," answered Helen, in the same
tone; "for all the time you were singing he was looking at you from
behind those curtains yonder."
"Was he indeed?" said Marion. She looked at the now closed,
unresponsive curtains with a quick glance of interest. "What does he
look like? I wish I had seen him."
"When you sing again, glance over there and you will certainly be
gratified," said Helen. "But here comes Paul at last. He has missed
your singing; is not that too bad?"
"I doubt very much if he considers it so," replied Marion. "He has
heard me several times and never expressed any particular pleasure,
that I remember."
"That is Paul's way," said Helen, eagerly. "It is hard to tell what he
feels by what he expresses. He admires your voice very much. I am sure
of that."
"What is it you are so sure of, Helen?" asked Rathborne, who had drawn
near enough to hear the last words through the crash of the piano.
"That you are very sorry not to have heard Marion's singing," answered
Helen, looking up into his face with a smile.
"I should certainly have been very sorry if I had not heard it," he
said; "but, as it happens, I had that pleasure. And it was just as I
expected," he added, turning to Marion. "You sang as I never heard you
sing before. An audience inspires you--an occasion calls forth all your
power."
She laughed softly. "Perhaps it was not the audience or the occasion so
much as the consciousness of Mr. Singleton's presence, and a desire to
evoke some sign of interest from a critic who buries himself in silence
behind drawn curtains."
"Well, if so, you evoked it. I congratulate you upon that."
"Helen was just telling me that he vouchsafed a glimpse of himself
during my song. I wish I had seen him. I have a curiosity to know what
he is like."
"Like a very ordinary old man," observed Rathborne, carelessly. "But
here comes Mrs. Singleton--to tell us, perhaps, that we should not be
talking while the music is going on."
So far from that, Mrs. Singleton began at once to talk herself, in a
discreetly lowered tone. "Miss Lynde," she said, "I hope you have no
objection to making the acquaintance of my uncle? He has asked me to
bring you in to see him. He is an old man, you know, and an invalid, so
you will excuse his not coming to see _you_."
"I shall be delighted to go to him," answered Marion, with ready
courtesy and grace.
So the entire company were surprised and interested to see
their hostess leading the young stranger across the room to the
jealously-guarded inner apartment where Mr. Singleton was secluded. All
eyes followed them curiously, and lingered on the curtains, which Mrs.
Singleton held back for a moment while Marion passed within, and then
let fall.
Marion's own curiosity and gratification were equally balanced. It was
like a public triumph to be led in this manner behind these curtains,
which had opened for no other of the performers of the evening.
Evidently this rich and presumably fastidious old man was to be
included in the number of those who recognized her to be something more
than ordinary. The instant that the _portières_ were drawn back, she
looked eagerly into the apartment thus revealed.
It was smaller than the drawing-room behind her, and was luxuriously
furnished. The light which filled it was softly toned and shaded, but
quite brilliant enough to show all the variety of silken-covered chairs
and couches, the richly-blended tints of Eastern rugs, the carved
tables and stands covered with books and papers. Sunk in the depths
of one of the easiest of these easy-chairs was a small, slight man;
his wasted face, with its high, distinct features, snowy hair, and
moustache, thrown into relief against the back of the chair on which
he leaned. His hands, which rested on its arms, were like pieces of
delicate ivory carving, and his whole appearance spoke as distinctly of
refinement as of ill health. Seated opposite him was an old gentleman,
whose robust aspect was in strong contrast with his own, and who was
talking in a tone which showed that he took no heed of the music in the
next room.
He paused and rose at sight of the two ladies; but Mr. Singleton did
not stir, though Marion felt his bright, keen eyes fastened on her at
once. She followed her hostess, who went forward to his chair.
"Here is Miss Lynde, who has come to see you, uncle," said that lady.
"It is very kind of Miss Lynde," replied Mr. Singleton, with the air
of the old school--that air which a younger generation has lost and
forgotten. He held out his hand, and, when Marion laid her own in
it, looked at her with an admiration to which she had always been
accustomed, and an evident pleasure in the contemplation of so much
beauty. "Will you sit down?" he said, after a moment, indicating a low
chair by his side. "I want you to tell me where you learned to sing so
well."
"Where do the birds learn?" asked Marion, smiling. "I have sung like
the birds as long as I can remember; although, of course, I have had
some teaching. Not a great deal, however."
"It is a pity that you should not have more," he said. "Your voice, if
fully trained, would be magnificent. But, as it is, you sing remarkably
well; you have no vices of style, and you have given me a great deal of
pleasure."
"I am very glad to have given you pleasure," answered Marion, with an
air of gracious sincerity. "Mrs. Singleton has told me that you are
very fond of music."
He made a slight grimace. "I am very fond of good music," he said; "but
I do not hear a great deal of it from amateurs. When Anna told me of
the entertainment she had arranged, I had little idea of hearing such
a voice as yours."
Marion laughed. "While I was singing," she said, "I had something of
the feeling which I imagine the singers must have who are obliged now
and then to go through an opera in an empty theater, for the sole
benefit of the King of Bavaria, who is invisible in his box."
"But you had plenty of visible listeners besides the invisible one,"
said Mr. Singleton.
"I thought nothing of them," she answered. "I was singing to _you_
altogether, and now I feel as if I had been summoned to the royal box
to be complimented."
There was a playfulness in the words which deprived them of any
appearance of flattery, yet it was evident that Mr. Singleton was not
ill-pleased at being compared to royalty--even such eccentric royalty
as that of the then living King of Bavaria.
"To carry out the comparison," he said, smiling, "I ought to have
a diamond bracelet to clasp on your arm. Such are the substantial
compliments of royalty. But, instead, I am going to ask a favor of
you--a very great favor. Will you come some time and sing to me alone?
I promise you that I will not be invisible on that occasion."
"I shall be very happy to do so," she answered, promptly. "It will be a
real pleasure to myself. Tell me when I shall come."
"That must be settled hereafter. My health, and consequently my state
of feeling, is very uncertain. Sometimes even music jars on me. Anna
shall see you and arrange it."
Mrs. Singleton, hearing her name, turned from a conversation which she
had been maintaining with the gentleman who was the other occupant of
the room.
"What is it that I am to arrange?" she asked. "That Miss Lynde will
come sometime and sing to us alone? Oh, that will be charming! But now
I must go back to my duties, for I think I hear the sonata ending. Will
you come with me?" she said to Marion.
"If my audience is ended," replied Marion, with a pretty smile, to Mr.
Singleton.
"Your audience is not ended, if you do not mind remaining with an old
man for a little while," he answered. "Anna can return or send for you
when she wants you to entertain her guests again. Meanwhile I want you
to entertain _me_."
"Before I go, then, I will introduce General Butler, and charge him
to bring you back presently," said Mrs. Singleton, after which she
disappeared.
General Butler, no less pleased than his friend with the charm of a
beautiful face, sat down again, and said to Marion: "Your name is very
familiar to me, Miss Lynde. I wonder if you are not a daughter of
Herbert Lynde, who was killed at Seven Pines?"
"Yes," answered Marion, "I am his daughter, and always glad to meet his
old friends. You knew him, then?"
"Oh! very well. He was in my brigade, and one of the bravest men I ever
saw. I thought there was something familiar to me in your face as well
as in your name. You are very like him."
"Herbert Lynde!" repeated Mr. Singleton. "If that was your father's
name, my niece was right in thinking that there might be some
relationship between us. The Singletons and those Lyndes have
intermarried more than once. I hope that you do not object to
acknowledging a distant link of cousinship with us?"
"So far from objecting, I am delighted to hear of it," answered Marion.
"Who would not be delighted to find such cousins?"
There was something a little sad as well as ironic in the smile with
which Mr. Singleton heard these words, as he extended his hand and laid
it on hers.
"That sounds very cordial and sincere," he said. "I hope you may never
find reason to qualify your delight. I confess I am glad to find that
we are not altogether strangers. It gives me a faint, shadowy claim on
your kind offices. I am not a man whom many things please. But you have
pleased me, and I shall like to see you again."
"I shall like to come," answered Marion, "for my own pleasure as well
as for yours. I am not easily pleased either," she added, with a smile;
"so you must draw the inference."
"It is one I should like to be able to draw also," observed General
Butler. "This is really too narrow. I cannot claim relationship, Miss
Lynde; but remember I am an old friend of your family."
"Of mine, too, then," said Marion, holding out her hand to him. As he
bent over it with a flattered air, she had a triumphant sense that it
was a conclusive test of her power to be able to charm and influence
men of the world and of mature experience like these.