The voice was so mournfully sweet that it thrilled every nerve in Salome’s quivering frame.
“Phantom or flesh—which are you?”
“Mrs. Gerome, the owner of ‘Solitude.’”
“Oh, indeed! I beg your pardon, madam, but I took you for a wraith! You know the place has always been considered unlucky—haunted—and you are such an extraordinary-looking person I was inclined to think I had stumbled on the traditional ghost. I am neither ignorant nor stupidly superstitious; but, madam, you must admit you have an unearthly appearance; and, moreover, I should be glad to know how you rose from the beach below to the top of this cliff? I see no feathers on your shoulders—no balloon under your feet!”
“I was walking on the sands in front of my door, and, hearing some very sweet strains that came floating down from this direction, I followed the sound, and climbed by means of steps cut in the side of this cliff. Since you regarded me as a spectre, I may as well tell you that I was beginning to fancy I was listening to one of the old sea-sirens, until I saw your rosy face and red lips, far too human for a dripping mermaid or a murderous, mocking Aglaiopheme.”
“No more a siren, madam, than you are a ghost! I am only Salome Owen, the miller’s child, waiting for that boy yonder, whose sublimest idea of heaven consists in the hope that its blessed sea of glass is brimming with golden shrimp. Stanley, run around the cliff, and meet me. It is too late for us to be here. We should have started home an hour ago.”
“Who taught you ‘Traviata’?”
“I am teaching myself, with what small help I can obtain from a vagabond musician, who calls himself Signor Barilli, and claims to have been a tenor singer in an opera troupe at Milan.”
“You ought to cultivate your voice as thoroughly as possible.”
“Why? Is it really good? Tell me, is it worth anything? No one has heard it except that Italian violinist; and, if he praises it, I sometimes fear it is because he is so horribly dissipated 109 that he confounds my bravura runs with the clicking of his wine-glasses and the gurgling of his flask. Do you know much about music?”