Mrs. Newell's drawing-room was crowded, and Anthony was presented here and there to little groups of ladies. Tosini was a dark, Latin-looking man with curly black hair, shot with gray; from the box of his violin he drew sounds that melted and thrilled, and left the ladies fluttering with delight.
"Astonishing tone," commented Whitaker, as he patted approvingly with his gloves. "Wonderful vibrations. Sometimes I think strings and wood have magic in them when brought together. Remarkable playing."
A round-faced man then blew a melody of Blanck's out of a German flute, and a young lady with a small, sweet voice sang "Love in a Village," to the tinkling of a harpsichord. Then another young lady with a harp, and an enterprising youth who bore a violoncello, joined forces with the flute and violin and made their way through a quartet of Bach's, to the gratification of every one. This done, there was a great chattering and clamoring and exclaiming. Anthony stood at one side rather disconsolately, Whitaker having deserted him, when he saw Mrs. King smiling at him from across the room. At once he made his way to her side.
"I saw you as you came in," she said, "but you did not permit your look to go anywhere but straight ahead, and so I couldn't catch your eye until now. I'm sure you enjoyed the music; you looked as though you did."
"It was a treat to me," he returned. "A Spanish sailor thrumming a guitar in the forecastle, or some indifferent fiddling at a trading-post, has been the only music I've listened to for a long time."
"Your mother was a beautiful musician; too beautiful, I'm afraid, for the city of her day. We rather resented finish," with a smile. "Have you made up your mind to remain with us?"
"I have not yet seen my uncle."
"Oh, that wonderful uncle," laughed Mrs. King. "So much depends upon what he does or says. A mere nod of his head will change the plans of hundreds. If he speaks, his intimates seem to expect a magical occurrence. But," and she nodded her assurance, "you'll like him. Charles has not been spoiled by adulation, for the reason that he has not noticed it. In many things he is still a boy. You are twenty-five, and he is fifty; but you are his elder in temperament."
They talked of New Orleans, of Anthony's experiences, of his mother and father; then they returned to music, and Mrs. King, pleased, commented upon the growing taste in such things.
"It must be the large number of people from continental Europe who have come among us, because of the revolutions and disorders going on there. Some of them are so charming that their accomplishments cannot help being imitated. Yesterday at de Lannoy's—Monsieur de Lannoy was a count in France—I heard a young French girl sing in a way that was extraordinary. And she was quite free and self-possessed; not at all like our girls who take a feeling of something like guilt into everything that is not usual. She is here with her father; they are strangers in the city. Monsieur de Lannoy had known her father in a business way at Brest."