Music 3.30 to 4.30.
Tea 4.30.
There was a chorus of approval round the Dobsons’ breakfast-table.
* * * * *
Lady Whigham’s concert went off with great _éclat_.
It was attended by many ladies, of whom one was a dowager countess, but
there were also a bishop and a midshipman. The last had a bad cold and
kept on blowing his nose during the performance of the soprano, a lady of
strange appearance, said to be a Serbian refugee of noble origin.
Joan did not enjoy the concert as much as the others. She said the
pianoforte playing was very indifferent--she wondered what Captain
Leclerc, who sat in the front row next to Clara Whigham, thought of it.
* * * * *
The 28th was fixed for the concert at Mrs. Dobson’s. Joan would have
liked to write to Jack Leclerc and ask him to recommend the artists, but
she wasn’t sure how he would take it, and besides, she did not know his
address. Of course she could have asked Clara, but somehow she did not
like to.
As Lady Whigham had specially asked Mrs. Dobson to engage performers she
was interested in, there was no difficulty and the day of the concert
arrived.
* * * * *
Among the first arrivals were Lady and Miss Whigham, attended by Jack
Leclerc.
Mrs. Dobson, wreathed in smiles, with Maud at her right hand, received
the guests. Effie gave them tea and Joan showed them to their places.
There were five “artists.” Three young men opened the performance with a
trio for piano, violin, and ‘cello. The ladies who had had tea knitted
and conversed. When the performance was over they went into raptures
about it. A middle-aged and melancholy-looking man with a beard followed.
He was the feature of the occasion, having been strongly recommended by
Lady Whigham as a “finished and accomplished vocalist.” He sang a series
of very modern French songs.
“It sounds to me as if something was wrong,” commented Mrs. Dobson to
Maud, who replied--
“Sh! mamma, they’re not supposed to have any tune.”
Lady Whigham in the front seat was applauding vigorously, so every one
else, especially Mrs. Dobson, did the same, with the result that the
accomplished vocalist sang them all over again, making exactly the same
faces.
After that an old lady in a yellow wig livened things up with a rendering
of Tosti’s “Good-bye” in a cracked contralto. While the audience was
applauding, Joan noticed that Jack Leclerc got up. He was making his way
gently to the door, evidently anxious to escape observation. Her heart
was in her mouth, but she sat on stonily, determined that he should not
know she had seen him.
At the door he encountered Mrs. Dobson.
“So sorry, I must run, Mrs. Dobson,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Oh, I am sorry, Mr.--er--Captain Leclerc. Can’t you wait till the end?
Joan will be so disappointed not to see you.”
“Oh, thank you. The fact is--” Leclerc stopped, looking a little
embarrassed. But Mrs. Dobson did not notice this and ran on--
“And what did you think of the concert, Mr.--er--Captain Leclerc?”
The musician’s professional conscience forbade a complimentary reply.
“It was very bad,” he said, “except the old Frenchman. That woman had no
business to sing in public, and as for those youths who call themselves
artists--why aren’t they in the trenches?” And hastily touching Mrs.
Dobson’s hand, he slipped away: the expression in her rubicund face was
pained as she gazed after him.
* * * * *
After the concert had come to an end and the guests had gradually
dispersed, Lady Whigham and Mrs. Dobson counted up the money and
discussed how much each performer should receive. This _tête-à-tête_
with Lady Whigham was what Mrs. Dobson most enjoyed the whole afternoon.
Meanwhile Clara drew Joan aside.
“Congratulate me, dearest,” she whispered. “I’m going to marry Captain
Leclerc.”