It would have been hard to choose between the two, for each in her own style was certainly very lovely.
Florence's hair was drawn off from her low, broad forehead, as she always wore it, and she had nothing on it but a tiny gilt band, like a golden thread encircling her head; which, though she did not know it, was a perfect Clytie in contour. Her dress was a French poplin, the ground a rich blue, while all over it, at regular intervals, were embroidered singularly odd-shaped figures in the brightest-colored silks, giving it a peculiar, piquante appearance, and perfectly suiting the wearer's brunette beauty.
Perhaps I have given too much time and space to dress; but parents and guardians may skip the above passage, as it is written expressly for young girls, who, I know from personal experience, are very naturally interested in such matters.
The hour at last arrived. The grand-piano stood between the folding-doors which separated the two large parlors; in the back room was Miss Christine, surrounded by all the school, and in the front sat Miss Stiefbach and the invited guests, about twenty in number, all of them refined, cultivated persons, many of them quite severe musical critics.
Mr. Stein fluttered from one room to the other, trying hard to appear unconcerned; but I doubt if any of his pupils were in a greater state of excitement than he. It had been an undecided question whether or no he should stand by the piano and turn over the music; but the majority concluded that he would only make them more nervous, so he retired to the back of the front parlor, in a position where he could command a view of every note in the key-board.
M. Béranger made his appearance at an early hour, and declared his intention of sitting with Miss Christine, to help her preserve order. She remonstrated with him, telling him he could hear the music to much better advantage in the other room; but nevertheless, when the company was all seated, and silence reigned supreme preparatory to the opening duet, M. Béranger quietly ensconced himself in the back parlor.
The fatal moment had at last arrived; the musicale was about to commence.
Marion sat through the first duet, trying hard not to think of herself, and to listen to the music; but she heard nothing but a confusion of sounds, the beating of her own heart sounding loudest of all. Florence's piece she did enjoy, and joined heartily in the applause which followed its 'finale,' and gave her friend's hand a congratulatory squeeze, as she came back to the seat beside her. But in a very few moments Alice Howard's song was ended, and as the murmurs of approbation died away, Marion took her seat at the piano.
To all outward appearance she was calm and self-possessed, and with a strong effort she summoned her almost indomitable will to her aid and struck the first chords clearly and decisively. Through the first two pages everything went well; but just as she was about to turn over her music, she missed one or two notes with her left hand. No one who was not perfectly familiar with every bar of the music would have noticed the omission; but to Marion it seemed as if she had made a terrible discord. Her forced composure left her, and all her nervousness came back again; she turned over hastily; the music slipped from her fingers and fell to the keys; she grasped it blindly with both hands, but the loose sheets fluttered to the floor, and confused, embarrassed, and mortified almost beyond endurance; she stooped to pick them up, amid a silence which was unbroken, save by Miss Stiefbach, who said in cold, hard tones:—
"Miss Berkley, do not attempt to repeat your piece; such carelessness is unpardonable."