AN UNINVITED GUEST.
Vavasor had not heard of the gathering. In part from doubt of his
sympathy, in part from dislike of talking about doing, Hester had not
mentioned it. When she lifted her eyes at the close of her ballad, not a
little depressed at having failed to secure the interest of her
audience, it was with a great gush of pleasure that she saw near the
door the face of her friend. She concluded that he had heard of her
purpose and had come to help her. Even at that distance she could see
that he was looking very uncomfortable, annoyed, she did not doubt, by
the behavior of her guests. A rush of new strength and courage went from
heart to brain. She rose and advancing to the front of the little stage,
called out, in a clear voice that rang across the buzz and stilled it.
"Mr. Vavasor, will you come and help me?"
Now Vavasor was in reality not a little disgusted at what he beheld. He
had called without a notion of what was going on, and seeing the row of
lights along the gallery as he was making for the drawing-room, had
changed his direction and followed it, knowing nothing of the room to
which it led. Blinded by the glare, and a little bewildered by the
unexpectedness of the sight, he did not at first discern the kind of
company he had entered; but the state of the atmosphere was
unaccountable, and for a moment it seemed as if, thinking to enter
Paradise, he had mistaken and opened the left-hand door. Presently his
eyes coming to themselves, confirmed the fact that he was in the midst
of a notable number of the unwashed. He had often talked with Hester
about the poor, and could not help knowing that she had great sympathy
with them. He was ready indeed as they were now a not unfashionable
subject in some of the minor circles of the world's elect, to talk about
them with any one he might meet. But in the poor themselves he could
hardly be said to have the most rudimentary interest; and that a lady
should degrade herself by sending her voice into such ears, and coming
into actual contact with such persons and their attendant
disgusts--except indeed it were for electioneering purposes--exposing
both voice and person to their abominable remarks, was to him a thing
simply incomprehensible. The admission of such people to a respectable
house, and the entertainment of them as at a music hall, could have its
origin only in some wild semi-political scheme of the old fellow, who
had more crotchets in his head than brain could well hold! It was a
proceeding as disgraceful as extraordinary! Puh! Could the tenth part of
the air present be oxygen? To think of the woman he worshipped being in
such a hell!
The woman he could honor little by any worship he gave her, was far more
secure from evil eyes and evil thoughts in that company than she would
have been in any drawing-room of his world. Her angel would rather see
her where she was.
But the glorious tones ceased, the ballad was at an end, and the next
moment, to his dismay, the voice which in its poetry he had delighted to
imagine thrilling the listeners in a great Belgravian drawing-room came
to him in prose across the fumes of that Bloomsbury music hall, clear
and brave and quiet, asking him, the future earl of Gartley, to come and
help the singer! Was she in trouble? Had her father forced her into the
false position in which she found herself? And did she seek refuge with
him the moment he made his appearance? Certainly such was not the tone
of her appeal! But these reflections flashing through his brain, caused
not a moment's delay in Vavasor's response. With the perfect command of
that portion of his being turned towards the public on which every man
like him prides himself, and with no shadow of expression on his
countenance beyond that of a perfect equanimity, he was instantly on his
way to her, shouldering a path in the gentlest manner through the
malodorous air.
"This comes," he said to himself as he went, "of her foolish parents'
receiving so little company that for the free exercise of her great
talent she is driven to such as this! For song must have audience,
however unfit! There was Orpheus with his! Genius was always eccentric!
If he could but be her protection against that political father, that
Puritan mother, and that idiotic brother of hers, and put an end to this
sort of thing before it came to be talked about!"
He grew bitter as with smiling face but shrinking soul he made his way
through that crowd of his fellow-creatures whose contact was defilement.
He would have lost them all rather than a song of Hester's--and yet that
he would on occasion have lost for a good rubber of whist with certain
players!
He sprang on the stage, and made her a rather low bow.
"Come and sing a duet with me," she said, and indicated one on the piano
before her which they had several times sung together.
He smiled what he meant to look his sweetest smile, and almost
immediately their duet began. They sang well, and the assembly, from
whatever reason--I fancy simply because there were two singing instead
of one, was a little more of an audience than hitherto. But it was plain
that, had there been another rondo of the duet, most would have been
talking again.
Hester next requested Vavasor to sing a certain ballad which she knew
was a great favorite with him. Inwardly protesting and that with
vehemence against the profanation, he obeyed, rendering it so as could
not have failed to please any one with a true notion of song. His
singing was, I confess, a little wooden, as was everything Vavasor did:
being such himself, how could he help his work being wooden? but it was
true, his mode good, his expression in the right direction. They were
nevertheless all talking before he had ended.
After a brief pause, Hester invited a gentleman prepared for the
occasion to sing them something patriotic. He responded with Campbell's
magnificent song, "Ye Mariners of England!" which was received with
hearty cheers.
He was followed by another who, well acquainted with the predilections
of his audience, gave them a specially sentimental song about a chair,
which was not only heard in silence but followed by tremendous cheering.
Possibly it was a luxury to some who had no longer any grandfather to
kick, to cry over his chair; but, like the most part of their brethren,
the poor greatly enjoy having their feelings gently troubled.
Thus the muse of the occasion was gradually sinking to the intellectual
level of the company--with a consequence unforeseen, therefore not
provided against.