TWO SONG BIRDS.
Percy Levant bowed and went to the piano, and Mr. Spenser Churchill
walked across the drawing-room and took a seat immediately beside Doris.
“I hope you like my young friend?” he said, in his softest voice, and
glancing affectionately toward him as he stood by the piano talking to
Lady Despard.
“I have seen so little of him,” said Doris, “but he is very agreeable.”
“Yes. Ah, my poor Percy!” he sighed. “Poor boy! He has suffered so
much--so much! There should be sympathy between you two, my dear young
lady, for he has known what it is to lose his dearest. I should move
your heart if I were to tell you what sorrow and trouble have fallen to
my poor young friend’s lot, and win your admiration and esteem for him
if I recounted the many difficulties he has had to encounter. It has
been a hard world for him, a hard life, poor fellow! I do so hope you
and Lady Despard will like him.”
Doris remained silent, but the softly-spoken words had something of the
effect their speaker intended, and she looked toward the young man with
increased interest.
“I think, with the exception of myself, he has scarcely a friend in the
wide world,” said Spenser Churchill, sipping his tea and sighing. “I
am counting so much on your and Lady Despard’s sympathy, my dear Miss
Marlowe! A word of encouragement from such kind hearts as yours will go
far to console him for the cruel disappointments he has endured. Ah! he
is going to sing, I see! Now you will see if I spoke too highly of his
voice and abilities.”
Percy Levant was certainly going to sing, but he seemed somehow
loth to begin. For a few minutes his fingers strayed over the keys
irresolutely, then he struck a chord and commenced.
He had chosen not an elaborate specimen of the flowery school, but
a simple Brittany ballad, and he sang it exquisitely. Doris, as she
listened to the long-drawn notes that seemed to float on eider wings
through the room, felt a singular sensation at her heart. It was as if
this stranger had defined the trouble of her young life, and had put
it into music! With tightly compressed lips she sat fighting back the
tears that threatened to flood her eyes, her hands closely clasped in
her lap, her eyes fixed on the ground, unconscious that Mr. Spenser
Churchill’s eyes were covertly fixed on her with a keen watchfulness.
The last notes of the song died away, and Lady Despard’s soft, languid
voice poured out her praise.
“Oh, but that is very, very beautiful, Mr. Levant; and you have a
lovely voice! How kind of you to come and sing to us! And I am so
grateful to Mr. Churchill for bringing you! You must sing again, must
he not, Doris?”
He had risen and bowed to Lady Despard, but his dark eyes looked beyond
her, and sought Doris’ face.
Her lips trembled, but she forced a smile; taking it as a request, he
returned to the piano and sang again.
Lady Despard was in raptures, but he prevented her asking for another
song by going across to Doris.
“Lady Despard will not play; will you?” he said. “You are not afraid
now?”
“Yes, more than afraid,” she said, with a smile.
“Will you sing with me? Here is a duet!” he said, quietly, his eyes
downcast.
“Do, dear!” said Lady Despard. “Miss Marlowe sings like a professional,
Mr. Levant.”
Doris rose reluctantly, and he led her to the piano.
Mr. Spenser went and sat beside Lady Despard, and began to talk to her
in an earnest but softly persuasive tone. The two voices at the piano
rose and fell in harmony, and seemed to act as an accompaniment to his.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Lady Despard. “Their singing together is
simply delicious!”
“And if your ladyship assents to my proposal, they can sing together as
often as you please!” he murmured, insinuatingly.
She laughed and nodded.
“That’s true! Oh, yes, just as you like. I’m sure he is most
interesting, and such a perfect gentleman!”
“Ah! yes,” said Mr. Spenser Churchill; “I would not have brought him to
you if he had been anything less. And it is settled, then?”
“Yes,” nodded her ladyship.
He rose at once and looked at his watch.
“I will make all arrangements,” he said, in a low voice. “Say nothing
to him to-night.”
The two men said good-night, and Percy Levant found himself outside,
his brain in a whirl, his heart beating wildly.
“Well, may one ask your highness what you think of my ward now?” said
Spenser Churchill, softly.
Percy Levant thrust his hands in his pockets.
“Has she been ill, or is it trouble that makes her look like that?” he
asked, in a grave, thoughtful tone.
“Trouble,” said Spenser Churchill. “Poor girl. Yes, she has been ill,
too; but she is better, and the change will completely set her up, I
hope.”
“Change?”
“Yes,” he purred. “She and Lady Despard go to Italy next week,” and he
smiled as he struck the blow and saw Percy wince.
“To Italy next week!” He turned upon him. “What are you scheming? What
are you doing? Why did you take me to see her to-night, if----Do you
think I am made of stone; that, like yourself, I’ve no heart! To Italy!”
“Yes,” murmured Spenser Churchill, “and I have arranged that you shall
go with them----”
Percy Levant started again, and, stopping, confronted him with a pale,
eager face.
“What?”
“Yes, exactly! You are to go with them as--what shall we say?--friendly
cavalier, courier, what you will--anything will serve as an excuse.
What do you say? Perhaps, after all, you regret your bargain! If so,
say so, and I’ll release you.”
Percy Levant caught him by the shoulder and held him in a savage grip.
“You--you devil!” he said, fiercely, almost wildly. “You know that
I cannot! If I had not seen her I might have had the strength; but
now----”
He withdrew his hand, and, almost thrusting the other man away from
him, strode on.