"I do not know what on earth they will do," cried Emily, tossing her hat
and gloves on the sofa. "Everard is in a terrible stew about the anthem;
Mary Cleaver is laid up with a bad cold and sore throat, so that there
is no chance of her being able to sing to-morrow, and there is not
another in the choir that could make anything of the solo--at least not
anything worth listening to. Is it not provoking?--just at the last
minute. Grace, now won't you take Miss Cleaver's place just for once?
Do, please."
"Thanks! But the idea is too absurd. Fancy my singing at a 'missionary
meeting.'"
"Perhaps Isabel would," interposed Rose.
"The idea is too absurd," returned Emily, affectedly.
"Don't be impertinent, Emily," said Grace, haughtily. "It is useless to
talk of Isabel, she added, addressing Rose, "she refused before, and
Everard would not be so absurd as to ask her again; he was quite
pressing enough--far too much so for my taste."
"I'm not so sure he won't; he will not easily give up his 'pet anthem,'"
replied Emily.
"Well, Isabel will not do it, you will see," answered Grace.
"I'm not so sure of that, either; he usually gets his own way somehow or
other."
"Then how was it he did not succeed at first?" said Grace, tartly.
"Oh, because Isabel made him believe that it would not be fair to Miss
Cleaver."
"Oh, Emily, that was not why Isabel would not, and she never said it
was," exclaimed Alice; "she told Everard she had several reasons for not
singing, and, she added, it would not be fair to Miss Cleaver after
being in the choir so long."
"And pray what might these weighty reasons be?" asked Grace.
"I don't know," returned Alice.
"Nor Isabel, either, I imagine," Grace answered.
"What are you so perturbed about, Emily?" asked Isabel, who now joined
them."
"The choir are in trouble about the anthem."
"How is that?" inquired Isabel.
"Mary Cleaver is sick," returned Emily, "and Everard is awfully put out
about it."
Everard entered with a roll of music in his hand.
"Where is Miss Leicester?" he asked.
"She is here," Grace answered, languidly.
"You will not now refuse to take the soprano in the anthem to-morrow, he
said, when I tell you that it is utterly impossible for Miss Cleaver to
do so, and that the anthem must be omitted unless you will sing."
"I am sorry that the anthem should be a failure, but I really cannot,"
replied Isabel, evidently annoyed.
"Oh, yes you can--just this once," he pleaded.
But Isabel only shook her head.
"Do you mean, Miss Leicester, that you positively will not?" he asked.
"Seriously, Mr. Arlington, I do not intend to sing in the choir
to-morrow."
"That is your final decision?"
"Yes."
He sat beating his foot impatiently on the ground.
"Is there no one else? Everard" asked Rose.
"No one!" he answered, in a very decided tone.
He tossed the music idly in his hand, though his brow contracted, and
the veins in his forehead swelled like cords. They were very quiet;
no one spoke. Emily enjoyed this little scene immensely, but Grace was
highly disgusted that her brother should deign to urge a request which
had already been denied, and that, too, by the governess; while Isabel
sat, thinking how very kind Everard had always been, and how ill-natured
it seemed to refuse--how much she wished to oblige--but the thing was so
distasteful that she felt very averse to comply. She remembered, too,
the beautiful flowers with which Alice had kept her vases constantly
supplied when she was recovering from her illness; she knew full well to
whom she was indebted for them, as but one person in the house dare cull
the choicest flowers with such a lavish hand,
"What are you waiting for, Everard?" Emily inquired, at length.
"For Isabel to relent," said Grace, contemptuously.
Everard rose, and stood for a moment irresolute; then, going to the
piano, set up the music, and, turning to Isabel, said in a tone of deep
earnestness: "Will you oblige me by just trying this, Miss Leicester?"
Grace's lip curled scornfully, and Isabel reluctantly seated herself at
the piano. Having once commenced, she thought of nothing but the beauty
of the anthem, and sung with her whole soul--her full, rich voice
filling the room with melody. Never had Isabel sung like this since she
had left her happy home. When she ceased they all crowded round her,
entreating her to take Miss Cleaver's place just this once.
"She will--she must!" exclaimed Everard, eagerly. "You will--will you
not, Isa-- Miss Leicester?" he asked persuasively.
Isabel was silent.
"A nice example of obliging manners you are setting your pupils," said
Emily, mischievously, at the same time hugging her affectionately. "What
makes my pet so naughty to-day?"
"I suppose I must," said Isabel, in a tone of annoyance; "I see that I
shall have no peace if I don't."
"Thanks, Miss Leicester," said Everard, warmly; "I can't tell you how
much--how very much--obliged I am."
"I should not imagine that such a very ungracious compliance called for
such excessive thanks," said Grace, sarcastically.
"Don't be ill-natured, Gracie," returned her brother, laughing; "you
don't know how glad I am."
"But it is so very absurd, Everard, the way you rave about Isabel's
singing, any one would suppose that you had never heard good singing."
"Nor have I, before, ever heard such singing as Miss Leicester's," he
returned.
"Oh, indeed, how very complimentary we are to-day!" retorted Grace.
"Such singing as Miss Leicester's!" echoed Isabel, with a gesture of
contempt which set Emily laughing excessively, while Everard beat a
hasty retreat.
In the evening Emily and Isabel had their things on, and were chatting
and laughing with the children in the school-room, before going down to
the church for the practising, when Mrs. Arlington came in, saying,
"I am afraid that you will all be disappointed, but Dr. Heathfield
strictly prohibits Miss Leicester taking any part in the singing
to-morrow."
"Oh, Mamma!" exclaimed Emily.
"He says that it would be highly dangerous, and that she must not
attempt it."
"But, Mamma, we cannot have the anthem without her."
"I am very sorry, my dear, but it cannot be helped," replied her mother,
and having given them the unpleasant tidings to digest as best they
might, Mrs. Arlington returned to the drawing-room.
"Now is not that too bad? Who in the world told Dr. Heathfield anything
about it, I should like to know?" cried Emily, indignantly. "What
possessed him to come here to-night, I wonder--tiresome old fellow?"
"But if it would really do Isabel harm, I think it was very fortunate he
came," said Alice, gravely.
"Oh be quiet, Alice! you only provoke me," returned Emily.
"Are you young ladies ready?" asked Everard.
"Oh, Miss Leicester is not going to sing," cried Rose, saucily. "What
will you do now?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, looking inquiringly from one to another.
"Why," said Emily, "Dr. Heathfield has forbidden anything of the kind,
and was quite peppery about it."
"Confound Dr. Heathfield!" he exclaimed angrily. "Is this true?" he
asked, turning to Isabel.
"Yes."
"It is all nonsense! I shall speak to Heathfield about it."
"That will do no good, Everard," interposed Emily; "He told mamma that
Isabel ought not to think of doing so at present."
"You did not think it would hurt you Miss Leicester," he asked.
"Never for a moment."
"I dare say he thinks you are going to join the choir altogether,
I shall tell him that it is only the anthem to-morrow, that you intend
taking part in, surely he cannot object to that." What passed between
them did not transpire, but when Everard returned he said to Isabel in a
tone of deep earnestness, "I should not have asked you to sing, had I
known the harm it might possibly do you, indeed I would not, and though
annoyed beyond measure at having to give up the anthem, I am very glad
that Dr. Heathfield's opportune visit prevented you running such a risk,
for had any serious consequences ensued, I alone should have been to
blame."
"No one would have been to blame, all being unaware of any danger,"
returned Isabel warmly, "but I am convinced that Dr. Heathfield is
considering possibilities, though not probabilities" she added coloring,
not well satisfied to be thought so badly of."
"Tell us what he said, Everard," petitioned Emily.
"He spoke very strongly and warned me not to urge her," Everard replied
evidently unwilling to say more.
"I don't believe that it could harm me," said Isabel thoughtfully, "but
of course--."
"You are jolly glad to get off," chimed in Rose saucily, and received a
reproof from Everard.
"We cannot disregard what he says," continued Isabel finishing the
sentence.
"Certainly not," returned Everard, and so the anthem was omitted.