Read Ebook: The Art of Music Vol. 02 (of 14) A Narrative History of Music. Book 2 Classicism and Romanticism A Comprehensive Library of Information for Music Lovers and Musicians by Hall Leland Editor Hill Edward Burlingame Editor Mason Daniel Gregory Editor Saerchinger C Sar Editor

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"Bother the husband! She won't want me or anyone else to interrupt the duet. I do wish it could have been a family with a daughter. The curtains don't look newly-married, Whitey!"

"No, they don't. I thought that myself. The house doesn't look as smart and fresh as one expects under the circumstances, but perhaps they are not well off, and had to be content with what they could get. You should not leap to the conclusion that she won't want you. Brides often feel very lonely through the day when their husbands are in the city, and I should think she would be delighted to have a friend of her own age so near at hand. We will watch and see if we can get a glimpse of her. She is almost sure to have gone out for a walk this fine morning, and if so she will come home in time for lunch."

From that moment Sylvia's eyes were glued to the window, and every woman between the ages of sixteen and sixty was in turn heralded as the bride, and scornfully laughed aside by the nurse.

"I told you that she was young and pretty!" she repeated laughingly. "I didn't mean that she was a schoolgirl, or a middle-aged woman. If she is coming at all she will be here within the next half-hour, so lie still and rest, and I'll play Sister Anne for you."

Ten minutes passed, twenty minutes, thirty minutes, and Whitey was beginning to hint at a return to bed, when at last the longed-for figure hove in sight. Sylvia raised herself on her pillows and peered eagerly forward, her scarlet dressing-jacket making a brilliant patch of colour against the background of white. She saw a slight, graceful figure clad in a tightly fitting black cloth costume, and a mass of flaxen hair beneath a sailor hat, and even as she looked the girl raised her head and stared upward with eager interest. She had a delicate, oval face and grey-blue eyes beneath thoughtful brows, but at the sight of the invalid the whole face flashed into sunshine, and the lips curled into a smile of such irrepressible rejoicing which was more eloquent than words. The next moment her head was lowered, and she walked demurely up the path dividing the little gardens, while Sylvia lay back on her pillows a-quiver with excitement.

"Oh, oh, the d-arling! What a perfect duck of a darling! Did you see her smile? Didn't she look glad to see me? Whitey, why did she look so pleased? What can she know about me?"

"My dear, she has seen the doctor's carriage drive up at all hours of the day, and two nurses going in and out, to say nothing of the bark which was laid down on the road. She must have known that someone was seriously ill, and no doubt the servants have told her that it was a young girl like herself. Yes, it was delightful to see her. You won't have any better congratulation on your recovery than that smile!"

"Whitey, she is in black! Brides don't wear black."

"They are obliged to wear it sometimes, dear. You can't lay down a rule about such things."

"She looks too young to be married. She ought to play about with me for a year or two first. I hate that man for taking her from me! That's the girl I should marry myself if I had a chance. Do find out what her name is, Whitey. Mary is sure to know, for she gossips with the other servants while she is cleaning the steps. Yes, I'll go back to bed now. I'm tired, and I don't care to see anyone else. I'll go to sleep and dream about that smile!"

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.

"Aunt Margaret, can you tell me anything about the people who have come to Number Three? I saw the lady coming in just now while I was sitting up, and I do so want to know her. Have you been to call while I was ill?"

Miss Munns crossed her hands on her lap, and looked the image of dignified reproach.

"My dear, do you suppose I have had leisure for social engagements? I know nothing about the people, except that their blinds are invariably crooked, and every one drawn up to a different length. Most untidy the house looks! A dear friend of mine used to say--Mary Appleford, whose father was the clergyman in my old home in Leicestershire--charming old man who married Lady Evelyn Bruce--most aristocratic family!--Mary always declared that she could judge a woman's character by the appearance of her windows. Judged from that standpoint, I should not feel disposed to call on the mistress of Number Three."

"But you haven't seen her, aunt; if you did, you could not help loving her. She looked so delighted to see me sitting up, and gave me such a delicious smile!"

"Smiled at you, do you say? A most unladylike thing to do! The first advances should come from our side, as she would know if she had any experience of society. I hope, my dear, that you were not so foolish as to respond. One cannot be too careful about strangers in this big wicked city. I shall never forget my poor dear cousin telling me how she called on a most superior-looking lady who came to live in the same terrace, and two months later the police raided the house, and it turned out that the husband made false coins in the back kitchen, and the wife circulated them among the tradesfolk. So awkward for Maria!"

Sylvia brought her eyebrows together in a frown, and tossed about on her pillow. She felt irritated and disappointed, and that made her head ache, and the headache sent down her spirits again, and eclipsed the brightness of the morning. If Aunt Margaret refused to call, she could not make the acquaintance of the fair unknown, and it would be a tantalising experience to see her every day, and, yet be as far removed from friendship as if they lived a dozen miles apart!

During the weeks which followed, nurse and patient kept a close watch on the little house over the road, and were rewarded by witnessing several interesting domestic scenes.

On Saturday afternoon, for instance, Edwin came home early to show himself in his turn. He was tall, dark, and handsome; dressed in the height of the fashion, and bore himself with such an air of complacency and benign patronage towards his fellows, that he looked far more like a prince of the blood than an ordinary city man. He carried a little bunch of flowers in his hand, and whistled as he drew near the gate in orthodox, newly-married fashion, and the pretty girl flew to the door, and nodded her head at him in happy welcome. He bent down to kiss her, and she took the flowers and sniffed at them lovingly; then they walked together down the little path to examine the growth of some sooty chrysanthemums and three struggling creepers placed against the house.

Edwin shook his head after the inspection, as though it had been far from promising, and then, instead of looking disappointed, they both laughed, turned round and round to look over their twelve-yard domain, and laughed again as if it were the best joke in the world. Then Angelina said something in a low aside, whereupon Edwin strolled to the gate, and in the most casual manner looked up the road and down the road, and then straight across at the window where the invalid lay!

"She told him to look!" cried Sylvia breathlessly, and her pale cheeks flushed until they were almost as red as the dressing-jacket itself. "He is very handsome, Whitey. I don't dislike him as much as I expected. Oh dear, they look disgustingly happy! I am sure they don't want me a bit, and I want them dreadfully. He doesn't seem the sort of man to coin false money, does he? Do please casually remark to Aunt Margaret how very nice and distinguished they look! It's my one object in life at present to make her call upon them."

The next day the situation developed still further, for a form was seen seated at a window, who must, of course, be Edwin; yet he looked strangely younger and fairer in colouring. Nurse and patient debated the point hotly, until presently the door opened and out came one, two, three masculine creatures, all as like as peas in a pod, except for the difference in years which divided Edwin from the handsome striplings on either side. They stood together in the tiny garden, obviously waiting for the mistress of the house, and when she did not appear, the youngest of the three picked up pieces of gravel and threw them up at a bedroom window, while the others whistled and beat upon the gate with their sticks.

Angelina strolled to the window in response to these demonstrations, and stood smiling at them while she fastened on her hat, but she did not appear to hurry herself in the least, nor did the brothers show any signs of annoyance at their long waiting. When at long last she made her appearance, there was great manoeuvring to get a place by her side, and away they trotted, four abreast, pushing everyone else off the pavement, but apparently blissfully unconscious of anything unusual in the proceeding.

Sylvia and Whitey watched until the last flutter of the black dress disappeared from sight, then fell to work to settle the identity of the new actors in the drama.

"They are brothers--there is no doubt about that; but they can't live there, Whitey! That wouldn't be at all newly-married. Do you suppose they are here for the day? Perhaps they are in rooms in town, and Angelina lets them come down over Sundays sometimes as a treat. They seem very fond of her, and quite at home. I think that is the most likely explanation, don't you?"

"I really think it is. Or they might live in the country and have come up to pay a visit and see the sights," said Whitey thoughtfully.

She was thankful to find a subject of interest in these long days of convalescence to keep her patient's mind from dwelling on depressing topics. Truth to tell, Sylvia was not getting well so quickly as had been expected, and besides more serious drawbacks there were minor troubles, trying enough to the girlish mind. She had to learn to walk again, like a baby, her back ached so badly that if she tried to stoop she screamed aloud with pain, and, worse than all, the plaits of hair grew small and beautifully less, until there was hardly anything left to plait. Sylvia had been proud of her hair, so she grew alarmed, and finally sent off in haste for her special barber to give advice and consolation in the difficulty. Consolation was not forthcoming, however, and the advice offered was by no means acceptable.

"You can't do nothing--there's nothing will be a bit of good," the man said dolefully. "Whatever you do, it's bound to come. The wisest thing would be to be shaved at once, and give it a start."

Sylvia fairly screamed with horror and consternation.

"Shaved!" she cried. "I? I go about with a bald head--a horrible, bare, shiny scalp! I'd rather die! I'd rather--I'd rather--I'd rather anything in the world! It's no use talking to me, Whitey; I will--not-- be shaved!"

"Very well, dear," assented Whitey easily. "Then you shan't. We will just have a few inches cut off, and get a lotion to rub in to help the growth. I daresay the old hair will keep on until the new appears, and then you need never have the horrible experience of seeing a bald head."

"I never should see it in any case. I'd buy a wig and wear it night and day. Nothing would induce me to look in the glass when it was off. I should never respect myself again. And oh, Whitey, even at the best the new hair will be ages growing, and it will be impossible to do anything with it!"

"Not at all. You can wear it short and curly. It would look very pretty, and suit you so well."

Whitey was aggressively cheerful, but Sylvia refused to be comforted.

"Well, p'r'aps it won't, after all, miss! We must 'ope for the best," said the barber cheerfully.

He and Whitey talked incessantly all the time the hair-cutting was proceeding, with the fond hope of distracting the girl's attention; but in naughty mood she refused to listen, insisted on sitting directly in front of her glass, and was rewarded for her pains by catching a glimpse of a bald spot on the crown of her head, which put the finishing touch of depression.

When the doctor arrived for his morning visit, he found a most melancholy patient, and held a serious consultation with nurse on the staircase before departing.

"She seems very low and listless this morning. Can't you do something to cheer her up? I am afraid we are going to have trouble with that foot, and if she has to lie up again it will never do for her to get in a melancholy condition. You do your best, I know, but she needs a change. There is no reason why she should not see visitors. Has she no young friends who could come to have tea with her, and make her laugh?"

Whitey sighed, and leant against the banisters with a dejected air. It is exhausting work being cheerful for two, and no one would have welcomed a laughing stranger more heartily than herself. The question was,--where was she to be found?

"She was lamenting to me the other day that she had no girl-friends. She went abroad to school, and has had little opportunity of making acquaintances since she came home. Miss Munns is very--conservative. She does not care to associate with her neighbours. There is a charming girl who has come to live opposite. We watch her from the window, and Sylvia has been trying to persuade her aunt to call for the last three weeks; but it is useless. I'm sorry, for she looks just the very person we want."

"Won't call, won't she? We'll see about that. I'm not going to have my patient thrown back, after all the trouble I've had with her, for fifty old ladies and their prejudices. You leave it to me!" cried the jovial doctor, and tramped downstairs into the parlour to give his orders forthwith.

A little diplomacy, a little coaxing, a few words of warning to revive affectionate anxiety, a good big dose of flattery, and the thing was done; and, what was better still, Aunt Margaret was left under the happy delusion that the projected visit was the outcome of her own inspiration. She said nothing to the invalid, but at half-past three that afternoon she put on her woollen crossover, and a black silk muffler, and her best silk dolman, and dear Aunt Sarah's sable pelerine, and her Sunday bonnet, and new black kid gloves, two sizes too big, carried her tortoiseshell card-case in one hand, and her umbrella in the other, and sailed across the road to call at Number Three.

Sylvia had gone back to bed after lunch by her own request. The hair- cutting ordeal had tired her out, and there was, besides, a deep-seated wearing pain in one foot and ankle which made her long to lie still and rest. She tried to sleep, and after long waiting had just arrived at that happy stage when thoughts grow misty, and a gentle prickling feeling creeps up from the toes to the brain, when a patriotic barrel- organ began to rattle out the strains of "Rule, Britannia" from the end of the road, and the chance was gone. Then Whitey read aloud for an hour, but the book had come to a dull, uneventful stage, and the chapters dragged heavily.

Sylvia longed for tea as an oasis in this desert of a day, and despatched nurse to bid Mary bring it up half an hour before the usual time. And then came a charming surprise! Back came Whitey all smiles and dimples, the tired lines wiped out of her face as by a miracle. She stood in the doorway, looking at her patient with dancing eyes.

"I've brought you something better than tea!" she cried. "Just look what I have brought you!" As she spoke she moved to the side, as if to make room for another visitor, and--was it a dream, or could it really be true?--there stood the bride of Number Three, the sweet-faced Angelina, in her black dress, her grey eyes soft with welcome.

"I wanted you too!" said the girl quickly. She had a delightful voice; soft, and deep, and musical in tone, and she was prettier than ever, seen close at hand. Best of all, she was not a bit shy, but as frank and outspoken as if they had been friends of years' standing. "Your aunt called on me this afternoon," she went on, coming nearer the bed, and sitting down on the chair which nurse placed for her. "She invited me to come to see you some day, but I've a dislike to waiting, if there's a good thing in prospect, so I asked if I might come at once, and here I am! I'm so glad you wanted to see me. I have watched you from my window, ever since you first sat up in your pretty red jacket."

"And you looked up and smiled at me! I have watched you too, and wanted to know you so badly. I've been ill for months, it seems like years, and was so surprised to see that your house was taken. You can't think how strange it is to creep back to life, and see how everything has gone on while you have lain still. It's conceited, of course, to expect a revolution of nature, just because you are out of things yourself, but I didn't seem able to help it."

"I'm like that myself!" said the pretty girl pleasantly. There was a soft gurgle in her voice as of laughter barely repressed, and she pronounced her i's with a faint broadening of accent, which was altogether quaint and delightful.

Sylvia mentally repeated the phrase as it sounded in her ears, "Oi'm like that meself!" and came to an instant conclusion. "Irish! She's Irish. I'm glad of that. I like Irish people." She smiled for pure pleasure, and the visitor stretched out a hand impulsively, and grasped the thin fingers lying on the counterpane.

"You poor creature, I'm grieved for you! Tell me, is your name Beatrice? I'm dying to know, for we had a discussion about it at home, and I said I was sure it was Beatrice. I always imagine a Beatrice dark like you, with brown eyes and arched eyebrows."

"I don't! The only Beatrice I know is quite fair and fluffy. No, I am not Beatrice!"

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