2
She seemed to grow larger and stronger and easier as the thoughtful chords came musing out into the night and hovered amongst the dark trees. She found herself drawing easy breaths and relaxing completely against the support of the hard friendly sofa. How quietly everyone was listening....
After a while, everything was dissolved, past and future and present and she was nothing but an ear, intent on the meditative harmony which stole out into the garden.
3
When the last gently strung notes had ceased she turned from her window and found Harriett’s near eye fixed upon her, the eyebrow travelling slowly up the forehead.
“Wow,” mouthed Miriam.
Harriett screwed her mouth to one side and strained her eyebrow higher.
The piano introduction to the Cavatina drowned the comments on the guest’s playing and the family relaxed once more into listening.
“Pink anemones, eh,” suggested Miriam softly.
Harriett drew in her chin and nodded approvingly.
“Pink anemones,” sighed Miriam, and turned to watch Margaret Wedderburn standing in her full-skirted white dress on the hearthrug in a radiance of red and golden light. Her heavily waving fair hair fell back towards its tightly braided basket of plaits from a face as serene as death. From between furry eyelashes her eyes looked steadfastly out, robbed of their everyday sentimental expression.
As she gazed at the broad white forehead, the fine gold down covering the cheeks and upper lip, and traced the outline of the heavy chin and firm large mouth and the steady arm that swept out in rich ’cello-like notes the devout theme of the lyric, Miriam drifted to an extremity of happiness.