‘I do not wonder,’ said Mrs. Dallington Vere, ‘at people objecting to act regular plays, for, independently of the objections, not that I think anything of them myself, which are urged against “private theatricals,” the fact is, to get up a play is a tremendous business, and one or two is your bound. But masques, where there is so little to learn by rote, a great consideration, where music and song are so exquisitely introduced, where there is such an admirable opportunity for brilliant costume, and where the scene may be beautiful without change—such an important point—I cannot help wondering that this national diversion is not revived.’
‘Suppose we were to act a romance without the costume?’ said the Duke. ‘Let us consider it a rehearsal. And perhaps the Misses Howard will have no objection to sing?’
‘It is difficult to find a suitable romance,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘All our modern English ones are too full of fine poetry. We tried once an old ballad, but it was too long. Last Christmas we got up a good many, and Arundel, Isabella, and myself used to scribble some nonsense for the occasion. But I am afraid they are all either burnt or taken away. I will look in the music-case.’
She went to the music-case with the Duke and Mrs. Dallington.
‘No,’ she continued; ‘not one, not a single one. But what are these?’ She looked at some lines written in pencil in a music-book. ‘Oh! here is something; too slight, but it will do. You see,’ she continued, reading it to the Duke, ‘by the introduction of the same line in every verse, describing the same action, a back-scene is, as it were, created, and the story, if you can call it such, proceeds in front. Really, I think, we might make something of this.’
Mr. Dacre and some others were at whist. The two Baronets were together, talking over the morning’s sport. Ecarté covered a flirtation between Lord Mildmay and Lady St. Jerome. Miss Dacre assembled her whole troop; and, like a manager with a new play, read in the midst of them the ballad, and gave them directions for their conduct. A japan screen was unfolded at the end of the room. Two couches indicated the limits of the stage. Then taking her guitar, she sang with a sweet voice and arch simplicity these simpler lines:—
I.
Childe Dacre stands in his father’s hall,
While all the rest are dancing;
Childe Dacre gazes on the wall,
While brightest eyes are glancing.
Then prythee tell me, gentles gay!
What makes our Childe so dull to-day?
Each verse was repeated.
In the background they danced a cotillon.
In the front, the Duke of St. James, as Childe Dacre, leant against the wall, with arms folded and eyes fixed; in short, in an attitude which commanded great applause.