“Foreigners—men, I mean—are all so well aware of this that they cultivate music as a necessary part of education; few attain high eminence, but all know something of it. But somehow we have got to believe that cultivation in England must always tend to material profit. We learn this, that, and t' other, to be richer or greater or higher, but never to be more acceptable in society, more agreeable or pleasanter company.”
“We have n't time,” said Nelligan, gravely.
“For what have we not time? Do you mean we have no time to be happy?” cried Repton, suddenly stepping in amongst them. “Now, my dear young ladies, which of you will bid highest for the heart of an old lawyer—by a song?”
“It must be Miss Henderson,” said Mary, smiling, “for I don't sing.”
“Not a ballad?—not even one of the Melodies?”
“Not even one of the Melodies,” said she, sorrowfully.
“Shame upon me for that 'even,'” said Repton; “but you see what comes of surviving one's generation. I lived in an age when the 'Last Rose of Summer' and the 'Harp that Once' were classical as Homer's 'Hymns,' but I have now fallen upon times when English music is estimated in the same category with English cookery, and both deemed very little above barbarous. To be sure,” added he, “it does seem very like a poetical justice for the slavish adherence of our education to Greek and Roman literature, that our ladies should only sing to us in the languages of Italy or Germany.”
“I hope you would not imply that we are as little versed in these as great scholars are in the others?” said Kate Henderson, slyly.
“Sharply said, miss, and truthfully insinuated too! Not to mention that there is courage in such a speech before Mr. Nelligan, here.”
“Yes—very true—a just remark!” said Joseph, who only overheard a reference to himself without understanding to what it alluded. And now a very joyous burst of laughter from the others startled him, while it covered him with confusion.