It was not very long before Marion's promise to Mr. Singleton was recalled to her mind—if, indeed, that could be said to be recalled which had never been forgotten. For she had not exaggerated in saying that this old man, with his air of the world, with his keen, critical glance, and the mingled imperativeness and courtliness of his manner, was after her own taste. His evident admiration and appreciation of herself no doubt led greatly to this result; for had she been treated as he was in the habit of treating people whom he did not like, there could hardly have been much liking on her side. But since his approval of her was very manifest, her approval of him was not less so; and was, moreover, sharpened by the restless ambition which made her look eagerly for any opening by which she might gain her desired ends.
She was glad, therefore, to receive one morning a note from Mrs. Singleton, begging to know if that day would suit her for the fulfillment of her promise to sing for Mr. Singleton alone. "I should have asked you to name the day," the note went on, "but for the fact that there are only certain days on which my uncle feels equal to the exertion of seeing any one; and, of course, he wishes to see as well as to hear you. If you have no other engagement for this afternoon, will you, then, gratify him by coming at five o'clock? And I hope to keep you to spend the evening with me."
Had any engagement interfered with the proposed appointment, there is no doubt that Marion would have broken it like a thread; but she was, happily, free from such a necessity, and had only to tell Mrs. Singleton that she would accept her invitation for the afternoon with pleasure. So, at the time appointed, her aunt's carriage dropped her at the door of the house which the Singletons had taken for the season. It was by far the handsomest house in Scarborough—wide, spacious, stately, with nobly proportioned rooms, and halls that spoke eloquently of the wealth that had planned them. It was a wealth that had vanished now, as the house had passed out of the possession of those who built it; but the fine old place served admirably as a setting for the Singleton establishment, which was formed on a very lavish scale.
When Marion was shown into the drawing room, she found Mr. Singleton there, established in a deep easy-chair near the piano, with an open newspaper before him. He laid it on his knee when she entered, and held out his hand.
"You will excuse my keeping my seat," he said, as she came toward him. "I rise with great difficulty, owing to obstinate sciatica, and never without assistance. But you must believe that I appreciate your kindness in coming."
"I am very glad to come," she said, with cordial sincerity. "I told you that it would be a pleasure to me. I like to sing, especially to one who knows what good singing is; and whose praise, therefore, has value."
He smiled, evidently well pleased. "And how do you know," he said, "that my praise has that value?"
"One can tell such things very quickly," she replied. "I think I should have known that you possessed musical culture even if I had not heard so."
"I have a good deal of musical knowledge, at least," he said. "In my youth I lived much abroad, and I have heard all the great singers of the world. It has been a passion with me, and I have missed nothing else so much during these later years of invalidism. You can judge, therefore, whether or not it is a pleasure to hear such a voice as yours."
"I know that my voice is good," said Marion; "but I also know how much it lacks cultivation. I fear that must jar on you, since you have heard so many great singers."