‘Aye, aye,’ said the new comer, wheeling his chair round to get a good view of William Henry’s face. ‘You found them, did you; those that hide can find; that’s what people tell me, you know.’
The speech was such a rude one, that it might have been uttered by the first Gentleman in Europe, nor indeed was William Henry by any means certain that he was not standing in his august presence; but there was a good-natured twinkle in the stranger’s eye which mitigated the harshness of his words. Never, indeed, before had the doubts concerning the genuineness of the manuscripts been expressed in a manner so personally offensive to the young fellow, and notwithstanding his conviction that the speaker was a man of very high rank, he might not have hesitated to resent it, but for a certain appealing look which Mrs[.] Jordan cast at him. He remembered that it was for his own sake that she had asked him to meet this man, and that if he offended him she herself might be the sufferer. He therefore only answered with a forced smile, ‘I should think no one but Mr. Malone could have told you that.’
‘And who the deuce is Mr. Malone?’ was the contemptuous rejoinder; a question that put the coping-stone on the young fellow’s embarrassment and, indeed, utterly discomfited him. He felt transported into strange regions, with a new atmosphere; a world that had never heard of Mr. Malone the commentator was unintelligible to him. It is one of the lessons that can only be taught by years, and of which the ‘Montys’ and ‘Algys’ of high life are as ignorant as the ‘Jacks’ and ‘Harrys’ of low, that our respective horizons are limited.
As William Henry stood tongue-tied, a sudden burst of melody filled the room. Mrs. Jordan had sat down to the piano, and was singing with exquisite pathos a song that was very familiar to him.
Detraction strove to turn her heart
And sour her gentle mind;
But Charity still kept her part,
And meekness to her soul did bind.
‘Very nice, and very true,’ murmured the strange gentleman approvingly, keeping time with head and hand to the tune. His irritation had departed like an evil spirit exorcised; into his coarse countenance had stolen an expression of pure enjoyment; his eyes were full of gentleness and even affection. Such power have the voice and the instrument (when accompanied by a pretty face) even on the most commonplace natures.
‘Now what is that, what is that?’ he exclaimed excitedly, when the song was done. ‘And why have I never heard it before, my dear?’
‘Because it is brand-new, sir,’ said Mrs. Jordan, with a bewitching curtsey. ‘I sing it as Flavia in this new play of “Vortigern and Rowena,“ which is to be performed next month at Drury Lane, and which I hope you will come to see.’
‘Certainly, certainly. Why shouldn’t I?