"A wonderful voice," he said critically, as the three walked up the aisle, "but of course it requires a great deal of cultivation."
"I think it's charming," interposed Nestley, eager to curry favour with Una by praising one whom she evidently regarded as a brother.
"Of course you would think so," replied Beaumont a little contemptuously, "because you know nothing about the subject; to an uncultivated ear Blake's voice sounds well because he has a wonderfully fine organ, but to a musician there is a crudeness of style, a want of colouring, and a lack of refinement which makes him regret that such a great natural gift is not trained to its full capabilities."
"But you're not a musician?" said Nestley, nettled at the superior tone adopted by his friend.
"No," answered Basil complacently, "but I have heard a great deal, and as most of my life has been passed among musicians I have picked up a general knowledge of the technicality of the art. Shakespeare never committed a murder, yet he wrote Macbeth and Hamlet. Balzac did not fall in love till somewhere about the forties, but, he wrote 'Modeste Mignon,' and 'La Lys dans la vallee,' before that age--one does not need to be an artist to possess the critical faculty."
By this time they had arrived at the chancel, and Reginald came forward to meet them, blushing a little with modesty on discovering three listeners instead of one.
"I must congratulate you on your voice once more," said Beaumont looking at him, "my advice is to go to London at once and study."
"London!" echoed Blake disbelievingly, "why not Italy?"
"A tradition only," replied the artist calmly, "because Italy is the land of song every singer thinks he or she must study there, but I assure you it's a mistake--London and Paris have as good teachers as Milan and Rome--I may say better, for everyone goes to the place where the largest income is to be made."
"How cynical," said Una playfully.