"Shall I take off my hat before I sing?" said Miss West calmly.
She was in Hubert's sitting-room. Mr. Lepel had the drawing-room floor
of a large and fine old house in Russell square--a floor which contained
two drawing-rooms opening out of each other, a bed and bath-room, and a
small den, generally called a smoking-room, although its master's pipes
and cigars were to be found in all corners of the apartments. Hubert had
partially furnished the rooms for himself, and thus done away with the
bare and ungarnished appearance usually characteristic of a London
lodging.
Miss West glanced around the room on her first entry with some
astonishment largely commingled with admiration. The mixture of luxury
and disorder which met her eyes might have surprised even persons more
conversant with the world than Cynthia West. The golden-brown plush
curtains between the rooms were half pushed back, and showed that the
back-room had been turned into a library. Shelves crowded with books,
tables heaped with them, a great writing-table and a _secretaire_ showed
that Mr. Lepel used the room for what might be called "professional"
purposes. But in the front drawing-room there had been attempts--and not
unsuccessful attempts--at more artistic decoration. The curtains were of
exquisite brocade, some charming etchings adorned the walls, great
porcelain bowls of flowers had been placed on the oddly-shaped little
tables that stood about the room. A pianette had been pulled out from
the wall, and an Algerian shawl glistening with gold was loosely thrown
over its back. Other articles of decoration were suggestive of foreign
travel. A collection of murderous-looking weapons had been fastened on
the wall between the two windows, some Eastern embroideries were thrown
here and there over the furniture, and an inlaid mother-o'-pearl stool,
an enormous narghileh, and some Japanese kakemonos gave the room quite
an outlandish air. In spite of its oddness, there was a brightness and
pleasantness about the place, due to the gay tints of the Oriental
stuffs, and the hue and fragrance of the flowers with which pots and
bowls and vases were plentifully filled.
"Yes, take off your hat and cloak, please," said Hubert, "if you do not
mind the trouble."
"It is no trouble at all; I can sing much better without my outdoor
things," replied the girl promptly.
She took off her little black-and-white hat and her neat little jacket,
and displayed herself in a closely-fitting black gown which suited her
admirably, in spite of its plainness. There was no touch of color or
sign of ornament; a rim of white collar around the neck and white cuffs
at her wrists gave the only relief to the gown's sombre hue. And yet,
with the vivid beauty of her face above the plain dark garment, it
seemed as if she could not have found a garb that was more absolutely
becoming. She stood beside the little piano for a moment with a roll of
music in her hand, and looked at Hubert questioningly.
"Shall I play my own accompaniment?" she asked.
"I never thought of that; I could have judged better of your voice if we
had had an accompanist," said her host. "I could play for you myself if
you liked."
"No; I will do it," said Cynthia decidedly, "Go to the other end of the
room, will you, please, Mr. Lepel? You will hear me better there."
There was a pretty air of command about her which amused Mr. Lepel. This
young woman, he reflected, as he took up the position which she had
recommended, was not one who would be contented with a secondary
position anywhere. She evidently considered herself born to rule. Well,
he would do her bidding; he had no objection to the rule of a pretty
woman! He was not disposed to take Miss Cynthia West and her singing
very seriously--as yet.
Cynthia seated herself at the piano, while Hubert flung himself into an
easy-chair at the farther end of the room, and crossed his arms behind
his head in an attitude of attention and endurance, which showed that he
was not expecting much and was prepared to bear the worst. For the
singing of an average girl of eighteen or nineteen, with an ambition to
appear on a public stage, is apt to be trying to the sensibilities of
the true music-lover; and Hubert Lepel was no mean critic of the art.
Cynthia played a few opening bars, and then began to sing a popular
ballad of the day. When she had finished it, she did not look round, but
went on fingering the notes, gliding gradually into another key. Then
suddenly she broke out into a fine old Italian aria, which she sang with
much fire and expression, availing herself of every opportunity of
_fioriture_ and _cadenza_ afforded by the song. And thence, with only a
few bars of symphony between, she launched herself upon one of
Schubert's most passionate love-songs, and sang it in a style which
brought the listener to his feet at its close in a musical rapture that
almost defied expression.
"Why, good heavens," cried Hubert, with something not unlike a gasp,
"who on earth taught you to sing like that? And your voice--do you know,
Miss West, that your voice is simply magnificent?"
Cynthia kept her head down, and continued to finger the notes--mutely
this time.
"I have been told that I might be able to sing at private concerts," she
said demurely.
"Private concerts! You might sing at Her Majesty's or Covent
Garden--with a little more training perhaps," said Hubert, trying to be
cautious, but failing to hide the satisfaction which shone out of his
eyes as he approached the piano. "Why have you never sung to any
manager? At least you may have done so, but I never heard a word of it;
and a voice like yours would be talked about; you know."
"I suppose it was old Lalli's fault," said Cynthia carelessly. "He
always impressed upon me that I could not sing a bit, and that I must
wait for years and years before I dare open my mouth in public."
"And who is old Lalli?" asked Hubert, gathering up her music and
beginning to turn it over.
Cynthia crossed her white hands and looked down, a shadow flitting
across her mobile face.
"He is dead," she said softly. "He was a very kind old friend. He lodged
in the house where I am lodging now. As long as he lived I always had
somebody to advise me--somebody to depend on."
Her voice faltered a little. Some moisture was visible on the long dark
eyelashes as they hung over the fresh young cheeks. Hubert thought again
that he had never seen a woman half so beautiful. The touch of emotion
softened her loveliness--made it more human, more appealing. His tone
was less light, but more simply friendly, when he addressed her again.
"Was he a musician?"
"He was a violinist in the Frivolity orchestra. He had been a singer
once, I believe; at any rate, he knew a great deal about singing, and he
used to give me lessons. He used to tear his hair, and frown and stamp a
great deal," said Cynthia, smiling tenderly; "but he was kind, and I
loved him very much."
"You met with him at the boarding-house where you live, I suppose?" said
Hubert carelessly.
Cynthia gave him a sudden glance. The color came into her face.
"No," she said slowly; "he took me there." She raised her right hand and
struck a few soft notes with it before she resumed her speech. "You
would like to know how it was perhaps?" She made long pauses between her
sentences, as if she were considering what to say and what to leave
unsaid. "I came to London about four years ago, in great trouble. I had
lost all my friends--not because I had done anything wrong, because
of--other things. I wanted to get something to do in a shop or as a
servant-girl--I did not care what. I tried all day, but nobody would
give me work. I slept in the Park at night. Next day I began to search
all over again, and again it was of no use. I had no money; I was very
hungry and tired. I sat down on a step and cried, and at last some one
said to me, 'What is the matter, my poor child?' And I looked up,
frightened, and saw an old man with a long gray beard and very dark eyes
and a kind face stooping over me. That was Signor Guido Lalli, of the
Frivolity."
"I remember him in the band quite well," said Hubert. "He had a good
face."
"Had he not?" exclaimed the girl, with sudden passion. "He was the
kindest, wisest, best man I ever knew! I could not help trusting him, he
looked so good. He made me tell him all about myself, and then he took
me with him to the boarding-house in Euston Road where he lived, and
said that he would be responsible to the landlady for me until I got
something to do. And Mrs. Wadsley was so fond of him that she took me on
trust for his sake. I don't believe she ever suspected how little he
really knew about me. And next day he took me to some friends of his,
and between them they got me a little engagement at a theatre; and then
I had a small speaking part, and so on--you know as well as I do how
young actresses go from step to step--so that I was able to support
myself after a time, and be no longer a burden upon him."
"And would he not let you sing?"
"No; he gave me lessons every day, and made me practise a long time; but
I had to promise him that I would not sing to anybody but himself
unless--unless I were obliged. I used to be angry about it; but he was
so good to me that I always gave in to him in the end. I fancy now that
he had a purpose in it all. When I was sufficiently trained, he wanted
to take me to Mapleson or some other great _impresario_, and get him to
bring me out in opera."
"Very likely. But you say he died?"
"Yes," said the girl, with a sigh, "he died--suddenly too, so that he
did not even say good-bye. He was found dead one morning in his bed.
Since then I have been all alone in the world; and I think Mr. Ferguson
knew it, and wanted to take advantage of my position."
"No doubt of it."
"So then, as I had no engagement at the theatre, I thought I would see
whether my voice would do anything for me. And, as I told you last
night, I made up my mind to speak to you."
Hubert had stood with his arms on the piano, looking gravely down on the
girl's bent face as she told her story. As she paused, she raised her
head, and her great dark eyes looked straight into his with an
expression of mute appeal which stirred his feelings strangely. It moved
him so much that he was forced to take down his arms and turn aside from
the piano for a moment or two; he scarcely wanted her to see how deeply
he was touched. He soon came back to her side, however, and said--
"If I had refused to listen to you, what would you have done?"
"I don't know," she answered meditatively.
"You would have gone to some manager--some celebrated _impresario_?"
"And been snubbed and repulsed by one and all!" said, Cynthia, with
sudden passion.
She rose from the music-stool and stood facing him; he saw her bosom
rise and fall, he marked the varying color in her cheeks, the light and
shadow in her troubled eyes, as she poured out the impetuous words with
which her heart was charged.
"I could not have borne it! I do not know how to put up with insult and
contempt. I feel that I hate all the world when it treats me in that
way. I never could be meek and good like other girls. I don't mean that
I want to be wicked--I hope I am not wicked--but, if you had failed me,
I think that I should have gone straight away to London Bridge and
thrown myself into the river--for I should have had no hope left."
"My dear girl," said Hubert, rather gravely, "with that voice of yours
you would have been very wrong to feel so easily discouraged."
"Oh, what would the voice matter if I could get nobody to listen to it?"
cried Cynthia, with fiery scorn. "I may have a fortune in my voice, but
how will the fortune benefit me if I can't have it for the next five or
ten years, and am starving in the meantime? I could not have stayed more
than a few days at Mrs. Wadsley's, as I had no money, and was not likely
to earn any. If I was turned out, where was I to go? It is winter now,
not summer, as it was when I slept in the Park four years ago, and dear
old Lalli found me crying on the steps. A night out of doors in this
weather would not leave me much voice to sing with, I fancy! No; I had
made up my mind, Mr. Lepel--if you would not listen to me, I would go to
London Bridge. If you think me wicked, I can't help it; it was my last
resource."
With her cheeks flaming, her eyes gleaming beneath her black brows, it
was plain that she was dominated by passion of no common strength, by
will and pride which made it well-nigh impossible for her to lead an
ordinary woman's life. Hubert looked at her, stupefied, fascinated by
her beauty; he was penetrated by an admiration that he had never felt
for a woman in all his life before. And she was a mere girl yet! He knew
that she would be ten times more beautiful in a few years' time.
"You were right to come to me," he murmured, scarcely knowing what he
said as he gazed into the depths of the lustrous dark eyes. "You need
have no fear--you will succeed."
Cynthia drew a long breath. Her attitude changed a little; limbs and
features seemed to relax, the color died slowly out of her flushed
cheeks.
"You mean," she said, in a lower voice, "that you do not think, after
all, that I was very wrong--bold, unwomanly, I mean--to speak to you,
when I did not know you, in the street last night?"
"Certainly not."
"I had no claim on you, I know," proceeded the girl, the light of
excitement fading out of her face, and the perfect mouth beginning to
quiver as she spoke. "It was only a fancy of mine that, as you had
seemed to understand so well how dreadful it was to be alone--alone in
this great terrible London--you would hold out a helping hand to a girl
who only wanted work--just enough to gain her daily bread." She sobbed a
little, and put her hand over her eyes.
"Miss West," said Hubert seriously, with a desperate effort to retain a
composure which was very hard to keep, "I can only assure you that I
shall consider it an honor to be allowed to help in bringing you to the
notice of men, who will do far more for you than I can hope to do."
She withdrew her hand from her eyes and looked at him with a brilliant
smile, though the tears were still wet on her eyelashes.
"You think I am worth helping?" she said. "And you will help me--you
yourself?"
"I will not rest," answered Hubert. "I will work night and day, and give
body and soul, and I'll see you a _prima donna_ yet!"
They both laughed, and then, obeying an impulse which stirred their
hearts alike, held out their hands to each other and exchanged a
friendly grasp.