A slight flush passes over Mr. Bennet’s face, as if he recalled something extremely disagreeable. His eyes become dreamy again; but after a moment the old smile returns, and, as if begging pardon, in a half bewildered way, he resumes:
“However, his position is trying. Fortunately there wasn’t any mistake except of his own.”
He is silent again. After a little while he asks, “Couldn’t we have some music? Ellen, can’t you sing something?”
Ellen thinks she can, if Gabriel will sing second; Gabriel says he will try, with pleasure; but really—he is so overwhelmed—the state of his voice—he feigns a little cough—if the crowded and fashionable audience will excuse—he really—in fact, he will—but he is sure—
During this little banter Nellie cries, “Pooh, pooh!” mamma looks pleased, and papa smiles gently. Then the fresh young voices of the brother and sister mingle in “Bonnie Doon.”
The room is not very light, for there is but one lamp upon the table by which the singers sit. The parents sit together upon the sofa; and as the song proceeds the hand of the mother steals into that of the father, which holds it closely, while his arm creeps noiselessly around her waist. Their hearts float far away upon that music. His eyes droop as when he was speaking of the tropic islands—as if he were hearing the soft language of those shores. As his wife looks at him she sees on his face, beneath the weariness of its expression, the light which shone there in the days when they sang “Bonnie Doon” together. He draws her closer to him, and his head bows as if by long habit of humility. Her eyes gradually fill with tears; and when the song is over her head is lying on his breast.
While they are still sitting in silence there is a ring at the door, and Lawrence Newt and Amy Waring enter the room.