We Two [132]
and most damaging hint, without even a pricking of conscience.
"You will try to rescue the M.P.?" asked Mr. Cuthbert.
"For the sake of his position, yes," said Lady Caroline, entering the conservatory.
"Oh! Mr. Farrant," she said, with her most gracious smile, "I came to see whether you couldn't induce your wife to sing to us. Now, is it true that she has given up her music? I assure you she and I have been battling the point ever since you came up. Can't you persuade her to give us just one song? I am really in despair for some music."
"I am afraid my wife is quite out of voice," said Donovan. "Are there no other musical people?"
"Not one. It is really most astonishing. I was counting on Miss Fane-Smith, but she has disappointed me, and there is not another creature who will play or sing a note. Greyshot is a terrible unmusical place."
"You do not belong to Greyshot, so perhaps you may be able to come to the rescue," said Donovan to Erica. "Scotch people can, at any rate, always play or sing their own national airs as no one else can."
Lady Caroline did not really in the least care whether there were music or not, but she had expressed herself very strongly, and that tiresome Mr. Farrant had taken her at her word, and was trying to beat up recruits recruits that she did not want. He had now, whether intentionally or not, put her in such a position that, unless she were positively rude, she must ask Erica to play or sing.
"Have you brought any music, Miss Raeburn?" she asked, turning to Erica with a chilling look, as though she had just become aware of her presence.
"I have none to bring," said Erica. "I do not profess to sing; I only sing our own Scotch airs."
"Exactly what I said!" exclaimed Donovan. "And Scotch singing of Scotch airs is like nothing else in the world."
Whether he mesmerized them both, or whether his stronger will and higher purpose prevailed, it would be hard to say. Certainly Erica was quite as unwilling to sing as Lady Caroline was to favor her with a request. Both had to yield, however, and Erica, whether she would or not, had to serve her roomful of enemies and a great deal of good it did her.
Out of the quiet conservatory they came into the heat and glare and babel of voices; Lady Caroline feeling as if she had been caught in her own trap, Erica wavering between resentful defiance and the desire to substitute Donovan's "How can I serve?" for "What do they think?"
She sat down to the piano, which was in a far-away corner, and soon she had forgotten her audience altogether. Although she had had little time or opportunity for a thorough musical education, she had great taste, and was musical by nature; she sang her national airs, as very few could have sung them, and so wild and pathetic was the air she had chosen, "The Flowers of the Forest," that the roar of conversation at once ceased. She knew nothing whatever about the listeners; the air had taken her back to her father's recovery at Codrington the year before. She was singing to him once more.
The old gentleman who had sat on her right hand at dinner came up now with his first remark.
"Thank you, that was a real treat, and a very rare treat. I wonder whether you would sing an old favorite of mine 'Oh, why did ye gang, lassie?'"
Erica at once complied, and there was such pathos in her low, clear voice, that tears stood in the eyes of more than one listener. She had never dared to sing that song at home since one evening some weeks before, when her father had just walked out of the room, unable to bear the mournful refrain "I never, never thought ye wad leave me!" The song was closely associated with the story of that summer, and she sang it to perfection.
Donovan Farrant came toward her again at the close.
"I want to introduce my wife to you," he said.
And Erica found that the young married lady in the pale-blue silk, whom she had singled out as the one approachable lady in the room, was Mrs. Farrant. She was very bright, and sunshiny, and talkative. Erica liked her,
"You will try to rescue the M.P.?" asked Mr. Cuthbert.
"For the sake of his position, yes," said Lady Caroline, entering the conservatory.
"Oh! Mr. Farrant," she said, with her most gracious smile, "I came to see whether you couldn't induce your wife to sing to us. Now, is it true that she has given up her music? I assure you she and I have been battling the point ever since you came up. Can't you persuade her to give us just one song? I am really in despair for some music."
"I am afraid my wife is quite out of voice," said Donovan. "Are there no other musical people?"
"Not one. It is really most astonishing. I was counting on Miss Fane-Smith, but she has disappointed me, and there is not another creature who will play or sing a note. Greyshot is a terrible unmusical place."
"You do not belong to Greyshot, so perhaps you may be able to come to the rescue," said Donovan to Erica. "Scotch people can, at any rate, always play or sing their own national airs as no one else can."
Lady Caroline did not really in the least care whether there were music or not, but she had expressed herself very strongly, and that tiresome Mr. Farrant had taken her at her word, and was trying to beat up recruits recruits that she did not want. He had now, whether intentionally or not, put her in such a position that, unless she were positively rude, she must ask Erica to play or sing.
"Have you brought any music, Miss Raeburn?" she asked, turning to Erica with a chilling look, as though she had just become aware of her presence.
"I have none to bring," said Erica. "I do not profess to sing; I only sing our own Scotch airs."
"Exactly what I said!" exclaimed Donovan. "And Scotch singing of Scotch airs is like nothing else in the world."
Whether he mesmerized them both, or whether his stronger will and higher purpose prevailed, it would be hard to say. Certainly Erica was quite as unwilling to sing as Lady Caroline was to favor her with a request. Both had to yield, however, and Erica, whether she would or not, had to serve her roomful of enemies and a great deal of good it did her.
Out of the quiet conservatory they came into the heat and glare and babel of voices; Lady Caroline feeling as if she had been caught in her own trap, Erica wavering between resentful defiance and the desire to substitute Donovan's "How can I serve?" for "What do they think?"
She sat down to the piano, which was in a far-away corner, and soon she had forgotten her audience altogether. Although she had had little time or opportunity for a thorough musical education, she had great taste, and was musical by nature; she sang her national airs, as very few could have sung them, and so wild and pathetic was the air she had chosen, "The Flowers of the Forest," that the roar of conversation at once ceased. She knew nothing whatever about the listeners; the air had taken her back to her father's recovery at Codrington the year before. She was singing to him once more.
The old gentleman who had sat on her right hand at dinner came up now with his first remark.
"Thank you, that was a real treat, and a very rare treat. I wonder whether you would sing an old favorite of mine 'Oh, why did ye gang, lassie?'"
Erica at once complied, and there was such pathos in her low, clear voice, that tears stood in the eyes of more than one listener. She had never dared to sing that song at home since one evening some weeks before, when her father had just walked out of the room, unable to bear the mournful refrain "I never, never thought ye wad leave me!" The song was closely associated with the story of that summer, and she sang it to perfection.
Donovan Farrant came toward her again at the close.
"I want to introduce my wife to you," he said.
And Erica found that the young married lady in the pale-blue silk, whom she had singled out as the one approachable lady in the room, was Mrs. Farrant. She was very bright, and sunshiny, and talkative. Erica liked her,