It was a fine exercise in self-control, and Mona accepted it. The excitement of the evening raised her somewhat above the level of her own personality, and she thought she could do justice to the pathos of the song without spoiling it by feeling too much.
"But if thy vow weary thee now,
Though I should weep for thee, come not to me."
The door of the music-room stood open, and it was fortunate for the success of her song that the last wailing notes had died away before she caught sight of a figure on the landing, reflected in the mirror opposite.
In an instant the sympathetic pleading look went out of her face; she struck a few defiant chords, and launched into Moore's quaint, piquant little melody:—
"When Love is kind, cheerful, and free,
Love's sure to find welcome from me;
But when Love brings heartache and pang,
Tears and such things, Love may go hang!
If Love can sigh for one alone,
Well-pleased am I to be that one;
But if I see Love giv'n to rove
To two or three,—then good-bye, Love!
Love must, in short, keep fond and true,
Through good report and evil too;
Else here I swear young Love may go,
For aught I care, to Jericho!"
She sang with great verve, and of course there was a storm of applause as she finished.
Ralph, looking on, could scarcely believe his eyes and ears. Was she thinking of him? Had his love brought her heartache and pang? He would fain have persuaded himself at that moment that it had; but the very idea of such a thing seemed ridiculous as he looked at her now.
What a chameleon she was! Ever since his conversation with Mr Reynolds the night before, he had pictured her looking up in his face with that sweet half-childlike expression, "Dr Dudley, what have I done?" and here she was, cold, brilliant, self-possessed, surrounded by a group of men of the world, and apparently very much at her ease with them.