Part 51 (1/2)

It was Mylecharaine, a Manx ballad in the Anglo-Manx, about a farmer who was a miser. His daughter was ashamed of him because he dressed shabbily and wore yellow stockings; but he answered that if he didn't the stocking wouldn't be yellow that would be forthcoming for her dowry.

She sang, recited, talked, acted, lived the old man, and there was not a sound until she finished, except laughter and the clapping of hands.

Then there was a general taking of breath and a renewed outbreak of gossip. ”Really, really! How--er--natural!” ”Natural--that's it, natural. I never--er----” ”Rather good, certainly; in fact, quite amusing.” ”What dialect is it?” ”Irish, of course.” ”Of course, of course,” with many nods and looks of knowledge, and a buzz and a flutter of understanding. ”Hope she'll do something else.” ”Hus.h.!.+ she's beginning.”

It was Ny Kiree fo Niaghtey, a rugged old wail of how the sheep were lost on the mountains in a great snowstorm; but it was full of ineffable melancholy. The ladies dropped their lorgnettes, the men's gla.s.ses fell from their eyes and their faces straightened, the noisy old soul with the ear-trumpet sitting under Glory's arm was snuffling audibly, and at the next moment there was a chorus of admiring remarks. ”'Pon my word, this is something new, don't you know!” ”Fine girl too!” ”Fine! Irish girls often run to it.” ”That old miser--you could see him!”

”What's her next piece?--something funny, I hope.”

Koenig's pride was measureless, and Glory did not get off lightly. He cleared the floor for her, and announced that with the indulgence, etc., the young artiste would give an imitation of common girls singing in the street.

The company laughed until they screamed, and when the song was finished Glory was being overwhelmed with congratulations and inquiries, ”Charming! All your pieces are charming! But really, my dear young lady, you must be more careful about our feelings. Those sheep now--it was really quite too sad.” The old lady with the ear-trumpet asked Glory whether she could go on for the whole of an afternoon, and if she felt much fatigued sometimes, and didn't often catch cold.

But the lady in satin came to her relief at last. ”You will need some refreshment,” she said. ”Let me see now if I can not----” and she lifted her gla.s.s and looked round the room. At the next moment a voice that made a shudder pa.s.s over her said:

”Perhaps _I_ may have the pleasure of taking Miss Quayle down.”

It was Drake. His eyes were as blue and boyish as before, but Glory observed at once that he had grown a mustache, and that his face and figure were firmer and more manlike. A few minutes afterward they had pa.s.sed through one of the windows on to the terrace and were walking to and fro.

It was cool and quiet out there after the heat and hubbub of the drawing-room. The night was soft and still. Hardly a breath of wind stirred the leaves of the trees in the park below. The rain had left a dewy moistness in the air, and a fragrant mist was lying over the gra.s.s.

The stars were out, and the moon had just risen behind the towers of Westminster.

Glory was flushed with her success. Her eyes sparkled and her step was light and free. Drake touched her hand as it lay on his arm and said:

”And now that I've got you to myself I must begin by scolding you.”

They looked at one another and smiled. ”Have I displeased you so much to-night?” she said.

”It's not that. Where have you been all this time?”

”Ah, if you only knew!” She had stopped and was looking into the darkness.

”I _want_ to know. Why didn't you answer my letter?”

”Your letter?” She was clutching at the lilies of the valley in her bosom.

He tapped her hand lightly and said, ”Well, we'll not quarrel this time, only don't do it again, you know, or else----”

She recovered herself and laughed. Her voice had a silvery ring, and he thought it was an enchanting smile that played upon her face. They resumed their walk.

”And now about to-night. You have had a success, of course.”

”Why of course?”

”Because I always knew you must have.”

She was proud and happy. He began to be grave and severe.

”But the drawing-room after dinner is no proper scene for your talents.

The audience is not in the right place or the right mood. Guests and auditors--their duties clash. Besides, to tell you the truth, art is a dark continent to people like these.”