Rashe summoned her at the same time to the decoration of the music-room, and on entering, stopped in amusement, and made her a sign in silence to look into a large pier-glass, which stood so as to reflect through an open door what was passing in the little fanciful boudoir beyond, a place fitted like a tent, and full of quaint Dresden china and toys of bijouterie. There was a complete picture within the glass. Lucilla, her fair face seen in profile, more soft and gentle than she often allowed it to appear, was kneeling beside the couch where half reclined the tall, handsome Edna, whose raven hair, and pale, fine features made her like a heroine, as she nervously held the hands which Lucilla had placed within her grasp. There was a low murmur of voices, one soothing, the other half sobbing, but nothing reached the outer room distinctly, till, as Phœbe was holding a long wreath, which Ratia was tying up, she heard—‘Oh! but it is so different with me from you young ladies who are used to company and all. I dare say that young lady would not be timid.’
‘What young lady, Edna? Not the one with the auburn hair?’
Ratia made an ecstatic face which disgusted Phœbe.
‘Oh, no!—the young lady whom Mr. Sandbrook was helping. I dare say she would not mind singing—or anything,’ came amid sobs.
Ratia nodded, looked excessively arch, and formed a word with her lips, which Phœbe thought was ‘jealous,’ but could not imagine what she could mean by it.
‘I don’t know why you should think poor Phœbe Fulmort so brazen. She is a mere child, taking a holiday from her strict governess.’
Phœbe laughed back an answer to Rashe’s pantomime, which in this case she understood.
‘She has not had half your training in boldness, with your inspectors and examinations, and all those horrid things. Why,
you never thought of taking fright before, even when you have sung to people here. Why should you now?’
‘It is so different, now—so many more people. Oh, so different! I shall never be able.’