“I don’t profess to know much about music,” said Margaret, “but it strikes me that the charm of that singing lies more in the voice than the actual delivery. Whoever it is, must be very young!”
“Whoever it proceeds from, it is charming,” repeated Elinor. “How Ralph would revel in it! Nothing affects him like music. It is the only thing which makes me regret my inability to play or sing. But I am most curious to learn who the new arrival is. Ah! here is Mademoiselle Brimont!” she continued, as she caught sight of Olga Brimont, slowly mounting the steep staircase, “Mademoiselle, do you happen to know who it is who owns that lovely voice? Mrs. Pullen and I are perfectly enchanted with it!”
Olga Brimont coloured a little. She had never got over her shyness of the English ladies, particularly of the one who spoke so sharply. But she answered at once,
“It is Harriet Brandt! Didn’t you know that she sang?”
Miss Leyton took a step backward. Her face expressed the intensest surprise—not to say incredulity.
“Harriet Brandt! Impossible!” she ejaculated.
“Indeed it is she,” repeated Olga, “she always sang the solos in the Convent choir. They used to say she had the finest voice in the Island. O! yes, it is Harriet, really.”
And she passed on to her own apartment.
“Do you believe it?” said Elinor Leyton, turning almost fiercely upon Mrs. Pullen.
“How can I do otherwise,” replied Margaret, “in the face of Mademoiselle Brimont’s assertion? But it is strange that we have heard nothing of Miss Brandt’s talent before!”