The young man who had just sung was still at the piano, softly playing variations on the same air. She gave him one hurried glance. He was tall and fair, with blue eyes and a silky blonde moustache, and he wore a velveteen coat, much the worse for wear, and a turn-down collar that showed to advantage the fine outlines of his throat and the graceful poise of his head. These details Elizabeth grasped at once before her gaze wandered to her aunt and Amanda, who were sitting idle as she had never before seen them in the morning, with eyes intent on the young man at the piano. Elizabeth noticed that Amanda had on her Sunday frock and her hair very much frizzed.
The girl had entered so softly that the three people already in the room did not at first notice her presence. When they at last did so, it seemed to cause something of a shock. Her aunt and Amanda stared at her in silence, and Amanda turned a trifle pale. The young man rose from the piano and looked at her intently for a moment with his bright blue eyes; then he re-seated himself and went on playing, but much more softly, and as if hardly conscious of what he did.
Elizabeth's aunt was the first to recover herself, and upon second thought it occurred to her that her niece had arrived at an opportune moment—when she and Amanda had on their best clothes, and were entertaining company. This reflection tempered the usual austerity of her greeting. "Why, Elizabeth, is that you? You're quite a stranger. It isn't often you honor us with your company."
"You know," said Elizabeth, quite used to the formula of reproach and excuse, with which these visits invariably opened "the white pony has been lame, and I have driven out very little."
"And you couldn't come on your wheel, I suppose? Nothing short of a carriage would do for you. I wonder you don't insist on a groom in top-boots. But well, never mind," Aunt Rebecca went on, feeling that she had sufficiently maintained her dignity "you're very welcome now, I'm sure, and you're just in time to hear some music. This is Paul Halleck, who has been kind enough to sing for us. Mr. Halleck, this is Amanda's cousin Elizabeth, whom you've heard us speak of." There was an odd note of grudging satisfaction in her voice as she made the introduction. Mrs. Jones's feeling towards her niece was a complex one, characterized on the one hand, by an involuntary sense of resentment at the elevation of Malvina's girl, on the other, by an equally involuntary pride in the connection. The latter sensation predominated when she introduced Elizabeth to a stranger whom she wished to impress.
Elizabeth's chief feeling was one of annoyance, and it brought an angry flush to her cheek. Then she caught the look in the young man's eyes, as he rose and bowed with much deference; and her own eyes fell and again she blushed, but not with anger.
"I have had the pleasure of seeing Miss Van Vorst before," said Paul Halleck, "though she has not, of course, noticed me."
"Why, yes, of course," said Elizabeth's aunt, still in high good humor, "you've seen her when you were out sketching. You see, Elizabeth, he's a painter as well as a singer; he's quite a genius, altogether. We find him a great acquisition to our parties here at The Mills. And to think that he was born here, and lived here part of his life! You remember the Hallecks that went West when you were a child? They settled in Chicago, you know. He only came to New York awhile ago, and thought he'd look up his folks in this place. But there, Elizabeth, sit down, and perhaps Mr. Halleck will give us another tune."
Elizabeth silently took the chair the young man placed for her, while her aunt still talked on volubly. The girl was bewildered by what she heard. She could not imagine this handsome young singer, with his air of picturesque Bohemia, as an acquisition to the parties of Bassett Mills; nor did he seem at home in her aunt's parlor. She glanced about the commonplace, gaudy little room, every detail of which impressed itself upon her with a new sense of its crudeness; the plush-covered furniture, staring wall-paper, the lace anti-macassars, the photographs of the family, the men in high hats, the women simpering in their Sunday clothes. It did not seem the fit atmosphere for an artist. And then, with a sudden, sharp misgiving, Elizabeth looked at Amanda, and asked herself for a moment if she could be the attraction. The doubt vanished instantly. Poor Amanda was not pretty at the best of times, and there was a sullen look on her face just then that made her appear at her worst. She had a dull, pasty skin and very light eyes. All the color seemed to be concentrated in her hair, which was a deep, dark red, all the more striking for the contrast to her pale face. The gown she wore, of a bright yellow, was peculiarly successful in bringing out the faded tints of her complexion and the jarring vividness of her hair.