“If Madame Gobelli wishes it, I have no objection,” replied Harriet.
“Oh! well! if you are all going to be so disagreeable as not to play a good game,” said the Baroness, as Mr. Milliken pulled her on her feet again, “’Arriet may as well sing to us! But a good romp first wouldn’t ’ave done us any ’arm!”
She adjourned rather sulkily to a distant sofa with Mr. Milliken, where they entertained each other whilst Harriet tuned her mandoline and presently let her rich voice burst forth in the strains of “Oh! ma Charmante.” Anthony Pennell was enchanted. He had a passion for music, and it appealed more powerfully to him than anything else. He sat in rapt attention until Harriet’s voice had died away, and then he implored her to sing another song.
“You cannot tell what it is for me, who cares more for music than for anything else in this world, to hear a voice like yours. Why! you will create a perfect furore when you go into society. You could make your fortune on the stage, but I know you have no need of that!”
“Oh! one never knows what one may have need of,” said Harriet gaily, as she commenced “Dormez, ma belle”, and sang it to perfection.
“You must have had a very talented singing-master,” observed Pennell when the second song was finished.
“Indeed no! My only instructress was a nun in the Ursuline Convent in Jamaica. But I always loved it,” said the girl, as she ran over the strings of her mandoline in a merry little tarantelle, which made everyone in the room feel as if they had been bitten by the spider from which it took its name, and wanted above all other things to dance.
How Pennell revelled in the music and the performer! How he longed to hear from her own lips that Ralph’s treatment had left no ill effects behind it.
When she had ceased playing, he drew nearer to her, and under the cover of the Baroness’s conversation with Mr. Milliken and the Baron’s snores, they managed to exchange a few words.
“How can I ever thank you enough for the treat you have given me!” he began.