"Very sorry to interrupt so pleasant a talk, specially when on so charming a subject as Sir Thomas Hayter," said Lord Dollamore, approaching; "but I come as a deputation from the general company to beg that Mrs. Hammond will sing to us."
"Mrs. Hammond would be charmed," said that lady; "but to-night she is out of voice, and really cannot."
"Do, Mrs. Hammond; as a matter of mere charity, do," said Lord Dollamore. "That delightful person Mrs. Charteris,--most delightful, and kind, and all that,--has been trilling away every evening until one is absolutely sick of her thin little voice. Do, for pity's sake, change the note, and let us have a little of your contralto. Do."
"You're very polite, Lord Dollamore; and 'as a matter of mere charity' I should be delighted to help you, but really I am out of voice and cannot. Stay; the old rule in convivial societies was, or I am mistaken, that one should sing or find a substitute. Now I think I can do the latter. Miss Hammond's companion, governess, what you will,--Miss Gillespie,--sings charmingly. If Lady Mitford will permit me, I will send for her."
Georgie, appealed to, was only too well pleased to secure such an aid to the evening's entertainment; so a message was sent to Miss Gillespie, and she was requested to "bring some songs;" Miss Hayter filling up the interval by playing, sufficiently brilliantly, a pot-pourri of dance-music.
Towards the end of this performance the door opened and Miss Gillespie entered. All eyes were instantly turned towards her, and--in the case of all the men at least--the casual glance grew into a lengthened gaze. She was a very striking-looking woman, with her sallow cheeks, her large eyes, her brown hair rolling in crisp waves on her forehead. She was dressed in a tight-fitting brown-silk dress with handsomely-worked collar and sleeves, and in her hand she carried a roll of music, of which Lord Dollamore stepped forward to relieve her; but she thanked him with a slight bow and sat down on the chair close to the door, still retaining her roll of music in her hand.
When Miss Hayter had ceased playing, Lady Mitford crossed the room and shook hands with Miss Gillespie, offered her refreshment, thanked her very sweetly for the promptitude with which she had acceded to their request, and told her that Mrs. Hammond had already raised their expectation very high. Then Sir Charles Mitford came up somewhat stiffly, and offered his arm to Miss Gillespie and led her to the piano; and there, just removing her gloves, and without the smallest hesitation or affectation, she sat down, and with scarcely any prelude plunged at once into that most delightful of melodies, "Che faró senza Eurydice," from Glück's Ofeo. Ah, what a voice! clear, bell-like, thrilling, touching not merely the tympanum of the ear, but acting on the nerves and on the spinal vertebrae. What melody in it! what wondrous power! and as she poured out the refrain, "Eurydice, Eurydice!" what deep passionate tenderness! The company sat spell-bound; Lord Dollamore, an accomplished musician himself, and one who had heard the best music everywhere, sat nursing his knee and drinking-in every note. Laurence Alsager, rapt in admiration, had even been guilty of the discourtesy of turning his back on Miss Hayter, whose chatter began to annoy him, and was beating time with his head and hand. Tom Charteris had crept behind his wife, who, far too good a little woman to feel professional jealousy, was completely delighted; and the big tears were rolling down Lady Mitford's face. She was still a child, you see, and had not gone through the Clanronald furnace, where all tears are dried up for ever.
When the song was ended, there came a volley of applause such as is seldom heard in drawing-rooms, and far different from the usual languid "Thank you," which crowns the failure of the amateur. Miss Gillespie looked round elated, as though the sound was pleasant and not unfamiliar to her, and was about to rise from her seat, when Laurence Alsager, who was nearest the piano, advanced, and begged she would remain--he was sure he spoke in the name of all present. So Miss Gillespie, after looking him hard in the face, made him a little bow, and remained at the piano, this time starting off into one of Louis Puget's charming French ballads, "Ta main," which she sung with as much fire and chic as if she had never quitted Paris.
At the conclusion of the second song, Lady Mitford came across to the piano to thank the singer, and she was followed by Mrs. Charteris and Mrs. Masters. Mrs. Charteris was in the highest delight--a feeling; not at all decreased when Miss Gillespie assured her that she had frequently listened to her, Mrs. Charteris's, singing, and had often envied that lady her correct musical education. Mrs. Masters said her little complimentary say about the song, but was principally taken up by Miss Gillespie's costume. She was one of those women who never see anything new worn by any other woman without taking private mental notes of its every detail; thus setting at defiance any attempted extension of the Patent laws in regard to female apparel. So, with her eyes devouring Miss Gillespie's dress, Mrs. Masters said to her "Yes, so charming that Glück! so full of depth and power!--(Wonderfully good silk; stands by itself like a board!)--And the little French chansonnette, so sparkling and melodious, and--(O yes, certainly French I should think! no English house could--) may I ask you where you got that collar and those cuffs, Miss--Miss Asplin? They are most peculiar!"
"My name is Gillespie, madam; and the collar and cuffs I worked myself." After which Mrs. Masters bowed, and went back to her seat.