Nesta came tripping from the Rev. Septimus Barmby. ‘Dear Mr. Durance, where is Captain Dartrey?’
Mrs. Blathenoy had just conducted her husband through a crowd, for an introduction of him to Captain Dartrey. That was perceptible.
Dudley Sowerby followed Nesta closely: he struck across the path of the Rev. Septimus: again he had the hollow of her ear at his disposal.
‘Mr. Radnor was excellent. He does everything consummately: really, we are all sensible of it. I am. He must lead us in a symphony. These light “champagne overtures” of French composers, as Mr. Fenellan calls them, do not bring out his whole ability:—Zampa, Le Pre aux clercs, Masaniello, and the like.’
‘Your duet together went well.’
‘Thanks to you—to you. You kept us together.’
‘Papa was the runaway or strain-the-leash, if there was one.’
‘He is impetuous, he is so fervent. But, Miss Radnor, I could not be the runaway-with you... with you at the piano. Indeed, I... shall we stroll down? I love the lake.’
‘You will hear the bell for your cold dinner very soon.’
‘I am not hungry. I would so much rather talk—hear you. But you are hungry? You have been singing twice: three times! Opera singers, they say, eat hot suppers; they drink stout. And I never heard your voice more effective. Yours is a voice that... something of the feeling one has in hearing cathedral voices: carry one up. I remember, in Dresden, once, a Fraulein Kuhnstreich, a prodigy, very young, considering her accomplishments. But it was not the same.’