"Oh! certainly," she said; and turning over some music which lay scattered on the instrument, she added, "Oh! here is that delightful little duet, 'Sempre piu' which, though not new, is always charming." Mr. Leslie Winyard had a sort of shuddering at the idea that, notwithstanding her general elegance, she might excruciate his ears by an open English pronunciation, and a drawl by way of sentiment; but he had embarked in the danger, and fortunately there was no one in the way to hear if his own talent should be marred. He therefore courageously opened the music leaf; and Lady Glenmore, having touched a few chords, gave an assurance that better things were in store. Nor did she disappoint the promise; her sweet, rich-toned voice had been tutored by Italian taste, and swelled or sunk to every intonation, with a delicacy of feeling which could not be surpassed; the sempre piu t'amo was uttered in the purest enunciation of the language; and Mr. Leslie Winyard thought, if it were only addressed to him, it would be a triumph, which the world he had lived in had not yet afforded. Lady Tilney entered the room while they were yet singing.
"I am glad to find you have not been tired," she said, "waiting for me. I beg you a thousand pardons, Lady Glenmore; but really I had so many things to do to-day—notes, those terrible time destroyers; and then the last number of the Edinburgh Review, together with Mr. Kirchoffer's last work, have so entirely occupied me, I totally forgot how the hours flew past, till Argenbeau told me that you were arrived. However, I hope you find the instrument in good order. Mr. Winyard sings like an angel; and I make no doubt," (looking at him, to ask how far she was right in the assertion) "Lady Glenmore does so likewise."
Mr. Winyard said, "I assure you, Lady Tilney, que voilà ce que l'on appelle chanter," indicating Lady Glenmore with a movement of his head, "I had no idea any thing not of the Land of Song could sing in that manner."
"Well, really, you astonish me; why Lady Glenmore keeps all her perfections to herself! But she must really be drawn out, and not suffered to hide her talents in obscurity."
At this moment Lady Tenderden and the Baskervilles entered, and shortly after the remainder of the company. "Well, it is time we should be gone, if we mean to see Richmond," observed Mr. Spencer Newcomb, "though I believe eating Richmond is fully as interesting, and candle-light at any time is better worth seeing than the sun-light; are you not of my opinion, Lady Glenmore?" He addressed himself in preference to her, because he thought she was new enough to be astonished, and astonishment was an homage paid to his power which he well knew he could not extract from any of the rest of the company.
"Both are good," replied Lady Glenmore, "in their proper season."
"A philosophical answer!" cried Sir William; "you did not expect that, did you, Newcomb?"
"No, it is too wise for me," he said, "for it leaves me nothing to say—it is a truism; messieurs et mesdames, je vous avertie, that as I do not like the evening fogs of the river I cannot postpone my departure. Lord Baskerville, Mr. Winyard, will you come with me? I have a voiture a quatre places, and any lady may come that likes." Mr. Leslie Winyard bowed and whispered Lady Glenmore, "would she go?" Lady Tenderden whispered her on the other side, "by all means go, my dear Lady Glenmore, and I will arrange my party in your carriage."
Lady Tenderden's advice was not to be slighted, and Lady Glenmore accordingly accepted Mr. Leslie Winyard's offered arm, and followed Comtesse Leinsengen, who treating her as nobody, as she was generally wont to do every one whom she dared, she entered her carriage and drove off. At Whitehall-stairs they found their boat waiting, the best barge, the most knowing bargemen, and all things in exquisite order—they take their places, and, a band of music following, glide down the stream, and are, or appear to be, in the most harmonious of humours.