"Did he indeed?" observed the vicar placidly. "No doubt it belonged to my grandfather. I thought that music was all burnt. Damnosa quid non imminuit dies?"
"He spared this, sir, at all events," said Reginald gaily. "Miss Mosser, you can play 'Lady Bell'?"
"Yes, I think so," replied Cecilia, striking a chord. "It haunted me when I first heard it. Sing it now, Mr. Blake."
Whereupon she played a prelude of silvery-sounding chords, and Reginald sang the old ballad of "Lady Bell." How, despising all the beaux, she gave her heart to a plain young country squire, and left the delights of Ranelagh for the quiet of a village. So dainty and crisp rang the music to the simple story with its Arcadian end.
"My Lady Bell in gold brocade,
Looked not so fair or trim a maid
As when in linsey woollen gown,
She left for love the noisy town."
And then the door opened as Reginald ended the delightful old song, and surely on the threshold stood my Lady Bell as she appeared at Ranelagh, in powdered hair, in shimmer of gold brocade, with wide hoops and patches on her arch-looking face, with dainty red-heeled shoes and skilfully manipulated fan. It was surely Lady Bell that stepped so stately into the room in the red glare of the fire to the melodious clearness of the gavotte played by Cecilia, who, being whispered to by Reginald, at once seized the spirit of the jest. Or perchance one of the old Garsworth dames had stepped down from her gilt frame, and, attracted by the familiar tinkle of the spinet, come to look at what gay company were assembled in the oak parlour; but no, it was to their eyes Lady Bell, fair and dainty as of old, who swept into the firelight with tapping of high heels and sweep of stiff brocade.
"We must have lights to see this," cried Dick, jumping up from his chair.
"No, no, I protest!" said Beaumont, lifting up his hand. "It will spoil all. This is not Miss Challoner, but Lady Bell--a ghost from the days of powder and patches come to visit us. She moves in mysterious shadows--a light will cause her to melt away."
"I'm too substantial for that, I'm afraid," laughed Una, waving her fan. "But isn't this a charming dress? I found it the other day, and thought I would give you all a fright."
"I don't think you could give any one a fright," whispered Reginald, whereupon she flashed a saucy look at him out of the shadows. The sweet, clear music was still stealing through the room, and Beaumont, in his low, languid voice, talked idly.