"Now you shall play to me," Mrs. George said to Sarah, when they had got back to the drawing-room again.
Sarah rose obediently
"What shall I play?" she asked.
"What can you play?" Mrs. George asked, in reply.
"Oh, a great many things," Sarah said modestly.
"Let Sarah play what she fancies," put in May, who had established herself in a low, lounging chair, and was fanning herself with a fan she had found on a table at hand with the closest imitation of Mrs. George she could manage; "she always plays the best then."
"Very well," Mrs. George said graciously. So Sarah began.
She felt that in all her life before she had never played as she played then. The influence of the luxurious meal of which they had just partaken was upon her. The exquisite coloured glass, the sweet-scented flowers, the smell of the fragrant coffee, the stately servants moving softly about with quiet footsteps and smooth gestures, each and all had made her feel calm and peaceful; and now the soft-toned drawing-room, with its plush and lace hangings, its delicate china, its Indian embroideries, and those two quiet figures lying back in the half light, making no movement except the slow waving to and fro of their fans, completed the influence. It was all food to Sarah's artistic soul, and she made the Amati speak for her all that was passing through her mind. Mrs. George was spell-bound. She actually forgot to fan herself in the desire not to miss a single note. Nay, she did more, she forgot to be languid, and sat bolt upright in her chair, her head moving to and fro in time with Sarah's music.
"Why, child, you are a genius!" she exclaimed, as Sarah came to a close and turned her speaking eyes upon her for comment.
"That's just what Papa said," put in May, adjusting her language to her company.