Three days passed, 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 passively played the part of assistant, 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 unobserved 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.
Now, Hope was a warm-hearted girl, and, as was only natural, had given
many a thought to the lover of the future; but it never occurred to her
that there was any danger in the interest which she felt in Ralph
Merrilies, or in her intense consciousness of his presence. She deluded
herself into the belief that she was less cordially disposed to him than
to any other member of the party, for she had been warned that another
girl considered him her individual property, and was by no means willing
to share his attentions. So it came to pass that she kept quietly in
the background, and had little or nothing to say to Truda's cavalier.
On the third evening of Hope's stay at The Shanty the sportsmen came
home unusually tired, and for once Truda's after-dinner tricks failed to
entertain. The men had no inclination to exert their minds or their
muscles either, and turning to Hope, begged her for "a tune."
"The worst of Miss Charrington," sighed Reggie Blake regretfully, "is
that she is so painfully classical and superior. She never condescends
to play a piece whose composer hasn't seven syllables to his name and a
sneeze in the middle. They are very clever and all that sort of thing,
don't you know, but I always wonder when the tune is going to begin.
Squeak, squeak! in the treble; bang, bang! in the bass; a rolling like
heavy machinery, and all sorts of jerks and breaks when you are least
expecting them: that is what you call a `Gigue.' A bit of a scale
repeated over and over again like the tune the old cow died of: that is
a `Fugue.' I've a musical sister at home, so I know. Now, I don't
pretend to be classical; I like a good, rousing air--something that
makes you want to stamp your feet and beat time with your head. Look at
Miss Charrington laughing at me! I suppose as a matter of fact you
don't _know_ any airs, Miss Charrington?"
"I have a schoolboy brother," answered Hope demurely. She wheeled round
on the music-stool and looked at him with dancing eyes; and when Hope
looked mischievous, it was something very well worth seeing in those
days of young womanhood. "I blush to say," she said slowly--though as a
matter of fact she did not blush at all, but looked particularly beaming
and complacent--"I blush to say that there is not a single tune at
present performed upon the barrel-organs with which I am not intimately
acquainted. I shall be happy to accompany you, and to coach you in the
words, whenever you feel inclined to perform."
"Hurrah! Good business! Will you really!" cried Reggie, jumping to his
feet and hurrying across to the piano, abeam with delight. "Can you
manage `Mrs 'Enry 'Awkins'? That is my stock song, and I sing it
wherever I go.--Mrs Loftus, you are dying to hear me sing `Mrs 'Enry
'Awkins'? I know you are.--Let's tune up at once, Miss Charrington; and
a chorus, mind--a rousing old chorus!"
Every one was laughing, and looking of a sudden bright and animated; no
one was sleepy any longer. There was a secondary accompaniment of
chuckles as Reggie screwed up his thin, ugly face into the most comical
of grimaces and half-sang, half-recited the celebrated coster love-song.
Hope's spirited playing made him sing his best, and her clear voice
started the chorus with such spirit that presently every one was taking
part, tentatively at first, then with quickly growing ardour, until at
last the volume of sound became overpowering. Uncle Loftus bellowed
himself hoarse in his corner, and even his wife's lips moved in
sympathetic echo. At the conclusion of the song there was an outburst
of applause and laughter which made the performer beside himself with
delight.
"To think," he cried, "that we have wasted our time over Wagner and
Grieg, and all those foreign Johnnies, when we might have had music like
this! I'll sing every night; and we must work up some more choruses.
Mrs Loftus, have you any Gilbert and Sullivan operas in the house?
Couldn't we have a try at them?"
Why not, indeed? No sooner said than done. Out came the operas from
the music cabinet, and as half-a-dozen voices urged the claims of
half-a-dozen favourites, there was plainly nothing to be done but take
each in turn. The chorus was by way of being a scratch combination--one
treble; one alto, who had to accompany as well as sing, and also to put
in all the high notes, because the treble declared that she could not
possibly "go" above F; two tenors, by no means as correct as they might
have been; and an army of heavy, dragging bass--but what was lacking in
ability was made up by fervour.
Mr Merrilies did not sing, but he volunteered to turn over the pages,
and seating himself by Hope's side, watched her face for the signal
which was to guide his inexperience. At first this signal was a quick
glance at his face, but as time went on this was replaced by a nod of
the head or an upward jerk of the hand--for there was something in the
expression of those watchful eyes which was embarrassing to meet at
close quarters. They talked quietly together between the choruses,
while the different parts were wrangling loudly, each laying the blame
upon the other, and calling attention to his own superior performance:
and it was not in girl nature to be ignorant of the fact that Ralph
seemed far less concerned about the music than her own comfort. The
lamp was moved because it dazzled her eyes; the book was raised to a
more convenient angle; a door was closed to avoid a draught; and all in
a quiet, unobtrusive manner that made the attention doubly acceptable.
Members of large families are not accustomed to have their wishes
gratified almost before they are realised, and are all the more ready to
appreciate such consideration from a stranger.
Hope played, and sang, and instructed--gave leads, banged insistently
upon notes which the singers rendered flat instead of sharp, and even
finished a tenor solo which had hopelessly come to grief--until hand and
voice and head alike ached with fatigue; but still the insatiable chorus
clamoured for more, remembering another and another favourite which it
would be a sin to leave untried.
"You are tired," said a low voice in her ear. "You shall not play any
longer;" and before she had time to protest, Ralph Merrilies had risen
from his seat and closed the book with a determined hand. "It is nearly
eleven o'clock. Do you realise how long you have kept Miss Charrington?
She has surely earned a rest. Do come and sit down, Miss Charrington;
your back must need support."
"Better come upstairs with me, Hope. I am just going," said Avice,
rising from the sofa and slipping her hand through her cousin's arm.
The singers, contrite at their own lack of consideration, busied
themselves putting away the music, and gathered into little groups round
the piano, so that Mr Merrilies and the two girls were alone in their
corner, and their conversation was not overheard. "I am afraid we have
been very selfish," he said, looking at Hope's tired face; "but the
music has been such a pleasure that we have gone on and on without
noticing the time, and Miss Charrington was too good-natured to remind
us that she was growing tired."
"Hope never thinks of herself," said Avice quietly; and the colour
flamed into Hope's white cheeks and her blue eyes brightened with
pleasure at this unexpected tribute. Avice--Avice the languid, the
undemonstrative--to praise her aloud, and in company! She was too much
taken aback to protest in the conventional way, but she noticed that Mr
Merrilies looked even more pleased than herself. He smiled at Avice
with a new interest in his eyes, and said quickly:
"In that case it is our duty to look after her. I should suggest fresh
air in the first place. How is it that she never joins us at our
out-of-door luncheons?"
"She stays at home to help mother; but she shall come to-morrow. I will
bring her," replied Avice in a voice that for once was not languid, but
quite brisk and decided. Wonders would never cease! Could it be that
friendship for a girl of her own age was about to rouse the listless
Avice to an active interest in the life which was going on around her!