“I think not. She was established in very comfortable quarters at Chelsea when Hawberk first heard of her. Some good friend brought her to London and paid for her training. The rest of her career is history. Hawberk finished her artistic education, and had the courage to trust the fate of a new opera to an untried singer. The result justified his audacity, and the Vivanti is the rage. She is original, you see; and a grain of originality is worth a bushel of imitative excellence!”
“I should like to hear her sing,” said Eve.
“Then you are in a fair way of being gratified. She is to sing to-night. Lady Hartley has engaged her.”
“Really! How odd that Lady Hartley never mentioned her when she was telling me about her programme.”
“The engagement was made only two or three days ago, after I met Lady Hartley at Lady Belle Teddington’s evening party. It was my suggestion. Musical evenings are apt to be so dismal—Mendelssohn, de Beriot, Spohr, relieved by a portentous Scotch ballad of nine and twenty verses by a fashionable baritone. Vivanti has sentiment and humour, chic and fire. She will be the bouquet, and send people away in good spirits.”
A duet for violin and ’cello began at this stage of conversation, and when it was over Vansittart moved away to another part of the room, and talked to other people. It was past eleven. He knew not how soon the Venetian might appear upon the scene; but he was determined to keep out of her way. He would not risk another effusive greeting; and with a woman of her type there was no reliance upon the restraints of society. She might be as demonstrative in a crowded drawing-room as on the river Thames. Of all irritating chances what could be more exasperating than this young woman’s appearance at his sister’s house, even as a paid entertainer? And it was Sefton’s doing; Sefton, who had seen him with Fiordelisa two years ago on the Embankment, and who doubtless remembered that meeting; Sefton, who had admired Eve and had been scorned by her, and who doubtless hated Eve’s husband.
Nothing could be more disquieting for Vansittart than that Sefton should have made himself the friend and patron of Fiordelisa—even if he were no more than friend or patron. If he were pursuing the Venetian girl with evil meaning it would be Vansittart’s duty to warn her. He had urged her to lead a good life—to redeem the error of her girlhood by a virtuous and reputable womanhood. It would be the act of a coward to stand aside and keep silence, while her reputation was being blighted by Sefton’s patronage. True that her aunt and son had been the companions of to-day’s river excursion; true that their presence had given respectability to the jaunt; yet with his knowledge of Sefton’s character Vansittart could hardly believe that his intentions towards this daughter of the people could be altogether free from guile. He hated the idea of an interview with Lisa; but he told himself that it was his duty to give her fair warning of Sefton’s character. She might have been Harold Marchant’s wife, perhaps, with a legitimate protector, but for his—Vansittart’s—evil passions. This gave her an indisputable claim upon his care and kindness—a claim not to be ignored because it involved unpleasantness or risk for himself.
He went back to Eve presently, and asked her to come into the inner drawing-room, where there were people who wanted to see her; an excuse for getting her away from Sefton, who still held his ground by her chair.
“I shall lose my place if I stir,” she said; “and I want to hear Signora Vivanti.”
“I’ll bring you back.”