Sefton arriving at half-past ten, only half an hour after the time on Mrs. Hawberk’s card, found the drawing-rooms blocked with people, mostly standing, and could see no more of Signora Vivanti than if she had been on the other side of the river; but the people in the doorway were talking about her, and their talk informed him that she was somewhere in the innermost angle of the back drawing-room, behind the grand piano, and that she was going to sing.
Then there came an authoritative “Silence, please,” from Hawberk, followed by a sudden hush as of sentences broken off in the middle, and anon a firm hand played the symphony to Sullivan’s Orpheus, and the grand mezzo soprano voice rolled out the grand Shakesperean words set to noble music. The choice of the song was a delicate compliment to Hawberk’s master in art, who was among Mrs. Hawberk’s guests.
The Venetian accent was still present in Lisa’s pronunciation, but her English had improved as much as her vocalization, under Hawberk’s training. He had taken extraordinary pains with this particular song, and every note rang out clear as crystal, pure as thrice-refined gold. The composer’s “Brava, bravissima!” was heard amidst the applause that followed the song.
Sefton elbowed his way through the crowd—as politely as was consistent with a determination to reach a given point—and contrived to mingle with the group about the singer. She was standing by the piano in a careless attitude, dressed in a black velvet gown, which set off the yellowish whiteness of her shoulders and full round throat. Clasped round that statuesque throat, she wore a collet necklace of diamonds, splendid in size and colour, a necklace which could not have been bought for less than six or seven hundred pounds.
“So,” thought Sefton. “Those diamonds don’t quite come into Hawberk’s notion of the lady’s character.”
Mr. Sefton did not know that, after the manner of Venetian women, Lisa looked upon jewellery as an investment, and that nearly all her professional earnings since her début were represented by the diamonds she wore round her neck. She and la Zia were able to live on so little, and it was such a pleasure to them to save, first to gloat over the golden sovereigns, and then to change them into precious stones. There was such a delightful feeling in being able to wear one’s fortune round one’s neck.
Mr. Hawberk had accompanied the singer, and he was still sitting at the piano, when Sefton’s eager face reminded him of his promise.
“Signora, allow me to introduce another of your English admirers. Mr. Sefton, a connoisseur in the way of music, and a cosmopolitan in the way of speech.”
Lisa turned smilingly to the stranger. “You speak Italian,” she said in her own language, and Sefton replying in very good Tuscan, they were soon on easy terms; and presently he had the delight of taking her down to the supper-room, where there was a long narrow table loaded with delicacies, and a perpetual flow of champagne.
Lisa enjoyed herself here as frankly as she had enjoyed herself at the sign of the Black Hat, in the Piazza di San Marco. She was the same unsophisticated Lisa still, in the matter of quails and lobster mayonnaise, creams and jellies. She stood at the table and eat all the good things that Sefton brought her, and drank three or four glasses of champagne with jovial unconcern, and talked of the people and the gowns they were wearing in her soft southern tongue, secure of not being understood, though Sefton warned her occasionally that there might be other people in the room besides themselves who knew the language of Dante and Boccaccio.