Lord Alison was dying. Society knew it, and was languidly interested
in the fact. One fact, however, afforded it far greater interest and
satisfaction. That fact was the succession to the title. Everyone said
the heir was a lucky fellow; and if everyone was poorer than the heir
would be, he uttered the words enviously. If, however, he had greater
possessions, he affected to be condescendingly glad at the luck of the
lucky fellow in question.
[Illustration: "SO FORTUNATE, YOU KNOW."]
"So fortunate, you know, my dear," said the afternoon tea consumers;
"Arthur Dalziel may propose at last with good hope of success. Lady
Hester could never refuse; besides, her father would never permit her
to."
So they settled it in Society.
But Society, though generally infallible in its deliverances on such
nice points, had a few rude shocks in store for it in this instance.
Lady Hester Trenoweth did not love Arthur Dalziel, but she loved
Arthur Dalziel's ward, a young violinist who had begun to create quite
a _furore_ in the fashionable world. In fact, Giovanni had become
the rage, and though some said it was preposterous that a young man
in his position should adopt music as a profession, they were nasty,
old-fashioned creatures who knew nothing of the nobility of a life
lived for the sake of art. That is quite a modern notion, by the way,
so these ancient gossips must be pardoned. They did not know of Lady
Hester's appalling preference, or their venom would have been seventy
times more virulent. They did not know of Lady Hester's preference, and
consequently they permitted themselves to talk freely in Giovanni's
hearing of the projected match between her and his guardian, dwelling
on Dalziel's well-known attachment and the barrier that his lack of a
title had placed upon the union.
Giovanni heard, turned slightly pale, and tuned his instrument for the
next number on the programme. A string broke with a harsh snap. He had
overstrained it. "Never mind," he said, "_it_ can be easily replaced."
No one observed the emphasis on the _it_. Perhaps excitement caused the
accentuation of the monosyllable.
In another part of the room Arthur Dalziel, slightly older-looking, but
handsomer, stood talking with Lord Trenoweth.
"The boy plays marvellously," said the old peer; "he's a credit to you,
Dalziel."
"He'll make his bread by it, easily, if need be," returned Dalziel.
"You have not decided, then, whether he's to come right out as a
professional or not?"
"Not quite; but it's more than likely he will."
"Most providential he has the gift. He'd have been a sad burden to you
otherwise. You picked him up most romantically, I remember----"
"Telegram for Mr. Dalziel," said a waiter.
Arthur glanced at it hastily and handed it to Lord Trenoweth.
The old lord read it carefully. Then he shook hands warmly with his
companion, saying, in an undertone: "She's yours, my lord; she's yours."
Thereupon Dalziel quietly withdrew, and Society heard from Lord
Trenoweth that Lord Alison was dead. Society smiled and awaited further
developments, feeling quite certain what these would be, and, for once
in a way, grievously miscalculating.
Giovanni would be twenty-one the next day, the day on which Dalziel had
determined that justice should be done: but that night Giovanni and he
each attended a funeral. Neither funeral was Lord Alison's. Dalziel
interred, dry-eyed, an old, good resolution; Giovanni buried, with one
or two bitter tears, his young heart's first love.
"I owe him everything I have," said the young man: "it is little that
I should sacrifice something for his sake. Doubtless she cares nothing
for me, the humble artist. I shall try to be happy in my benefactor's
happiness."
"He can easily win fortune and a name with his music," Dalziel told
himself: "he has nothing to lose, and he owes me his training. Besides,
I cannot give her up. She _must_ accept me. No woman in her senses
could do otherwise. Justice--faugh! it's all on my side."
Such were the dirges at the two funerals.
Courtesy to Lord Alison's memory demanded the postponement for a time
of the celebration of Giovanni's coming of age, so that birthday of his
was a somewhat dull one. He said he would go out of town for a little.
Dalziel consented, and his ward left early in the morning.
Among the letters at breakfast-time Dalziel observed one for
Giovanni--a dirty, greasy, plebeian-looking thing. He turned it over
curiously and then, scarcely knowing what he did, opened and read it.
It contained an offer to restore to Giovanni, for a consideration, a
document that would disclose the mystery of his origin. Dalziel did not
hesitate what course to take. He arranged an interview with the unknown
correspondent, and in a few hours was put in possession of the lost
paper.
Giovanni's chances of justice were small enough now. Blind to Lady
Hester's indifference, Dalziel persisted in his wooing, and Lord
Trenoweth was only too proud to countenance a match with the new Lord
Alison. At last the girl yielded to her father's commands and her
admirer's entreaties. She fancied it was the common lot of women to be
sacrificed so; then, too, Giovanni had spoken no word of hope to her.
She would submit and do her duty. Society smiled very sagely over the
engagement, and said: "I told you so: she is too sensible a girl to
resist long."
The time of mourning was over. Lord Alison was to give a very select
musical evening. It still wanted some weeks to the wedding. Giovanni,
Lord Alison's nephew ("though he's not his nephew, really," said the
knowing world), was to play twice. His second piece on the programme
was left without a name. "He will improvise, most likely," said the
writers of Society gossip, and they whetted their pencils for praise.
That blank number was intended as a surprise for Alison. Since the
night when Giovanni was found on the doorstep, he had never seen the
scrap of old MS. music from which his protector had played the air that
brought them together. Dalziel declared he had lost it, and though
seemingly shy of mentioning the fragment, would sometimes regret that
he could not properly recollect it.
Giovanni recollected it perfectly, however, and had been familiar with
it since ever he could remember, though how or where he had learned it
he could not say. Latterly he had a dim suspicion that Dalziel must
have composed it, and was consequently shy of speaking about it. His
memory was marvellous, and he had written in full the piano part that
his benefactor had played to him so long ago. Lady Hester was to be his
accompanist, so he took her into his confidence, fancying, poor boy,
that she would be delighted at the surprise in store for her betrothed.
She gave him a look that he could not understand, and murmured
something about the subtle spell of old melodies. Giovanni, for answer,
took up his instrument and the practising proceeded. Loyalty to his
friend made him purse his lips very tight that afternoon. It was their
last meeting before the concert--before the wedding, in fact. They
had been boy and girl friends, and such ties always get a wrench when
marriage comes to one or other and leaves one stranded. It is a wrench
where there has been nothing but friendship; where love is, it is a
very rending of the heart-strings. Giovanni at length rose to go.
"Good-bye, Hester; it's the last time I may call you so."
"Good-bye, Giovanni."
[Illustration: "GOOD-BYE, HESTER."]
They would meet again in the crowded saloons of Lord Alison's mansion,
but this was to be their true farewell. Something in her tones, in her
look, thrilled the young man. He gazed into her eyes and read her heart.
"Hester!"
"Giovanni!"
"But I must not," she said, at length; "I have promised to marry Lord
Alison."
"And, Hester, it's a strange request; but you must promise me to marry
no one but Lord Alison!"
"I know what you mean, Giovanni; I fear it must be so, now that my word
is pledged. Oh, if we had only discovered sooner!"
"We meet again at the concert. Good-bye, Hester!"
"Good-bye, Giovannino, good-bye!"