Now the truth was, that Harry had been gifted by nature with a rich powerful voice and excellent ear, qualities which the admiration of his “set” at Cambridge had induced him to cultivate. When he first started on his grand tour, he encountered at Florence the mother and sisters of an old college friend, and those being the days before he had foresworn young ladies’ society, he was let in for a mild flirtation with one of the daughters. The “emphatic she” happened to be fanatica per la musica. Accordingly for three months Harry took lessons of the best master in the place, and sang duets morning, noon, and night; at the end of which period the “loved one” bolted with a black-bearded native, who called himself a count, and was a courier. Since which episode, Harry, disgusted with the whole affair, and all connected with it, had chiefly confined his singing to lyrical declarations that he would “not go home till morning.” It will therefore be less a matter of surprise to the reader, than it was to his audience at the Grange, that Coverdale performed his part in the duet with equal taste and skill, and very much better than Alice did hers—that young lady pronouncing her Italian with rather a midland-county accent than otherwise, although her sweet, fresh, young voice, in great measure atoned for this little peculiarity.
“Why, Mr. Coverdale, what a charming voice you have, and how beautifully you sing!” exclaimed Emily, looking at him as if she could not even yet believe that it was possible he should have so distinguished himself. “I thought you were hoaxing us, and I sat down to play the duet for the amiable purpose of exposing your ignorance.”
“How did you acquire such a pure Italian accent?” asked Mrs. Hazlehurst; “it will be of the greatest advantage to my girls to sing with you.”
“I learned of an Italian fellow when I was at Florence, and I suppose he taught me to do the business all right,” was the careless reply.
“And you have been here more than a week,” continued Mrs. Hazlehurst, “and allowed Mr. D’Almayne to monopolise both the reading and singing department, though he cannot fill either one quarter as efficiently as you are able to do. You really are too diffident.”
“I don’t imagine diffidence to have had very much to do with it,” observed Kate Marsden, quietly raising her eyes from her work (a crochet purse with steel beads), and fixing them on Coverdale.
Harry laughed slightly as with heightened colour he replied, “You are too clever, Miss Marsden. I by no means approve of being subjected to such subtle clairvoyance; however, I may as well honestly confess that you are right, and that a feeling more akin to pride than to humility has prevented my seeking to rival Mr. D’Almayne.”
“We have found you out at last though,” returned Emily, “and I for one will do my best to punish you for your idleness, by making you sing every song I can think of. I don’t believe it was either pride or humility which kept you silent—it was nothing but sheer idleness.”
“Judging of her principles from her practice, I can readily believe Miss Emily Hazlehurst must consider silence to result from some reprehensible cause,” replied Coverdale, with a meaning smile.
Of course Emily made a pert rejoinder, and of course Coverdale was forced to sing half-a-dozen more songs, which, as he had by this time got up the steam considerably, he did in a style which won him fresh laurels but it was a remarkable fact, that from the moment in which Harry began to read aloud, Alice, although her attention had never flagged, had scarcely uttered a single word—perhaps it was because she thought the more.