"Oh, yes; and Beethoven, too. I am fond of music, so I have studied it a great deal. I can play almost anything," she said, carelessly, as she took the piece he handed her—an exceedingly brilliant and difficult piece by Mozart, and ran her quick eyes over it.
She placed the music before her, and struck the first notes. The hum of voices in the room grew instantly still. No one spoke while that grand torrent of music rose and fell on the charmed air, as those slim white fingers of Leonora swept the echoing keys. They forgot the performer for a little, even as she forgot them. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes sparkled. While she played she remembered nothing but the harmonies that were shed from her subtle finger-touches. The art of the grand composer charmed her, and when she paused at last, it was with a low sigh of blended pain and pleasure.
"Brava!" said De Vere, bending over her, and she smiled.
"Have I done well? It is because I have a passion for music, and have given my soul to it."
[CHAPTER XXXIV.]
It was quite likely that De Vere would see the difference between his lowly born love and the real ladies in the room, as Lady Adela had said, but that he would be disenchanted was quite another matter. There certainly appeared to be no chance of it now. He was charmed with the splendid musical talent she had evinced. He felt a glow of pride in her as if she belonged to him already.
"You have done splendidly," he whispered, as he hung delightedly over her. "There is not a lady in the room who can do half so well."
"Thank you," she replied, demurely. "But you had better give me another piece. I am here to play, not to talk."
He longed to say, "Give me the right to place you on an equality with these women as my wife," but he was afraid to venture yet. Something in her cold, careless manner forbade the thought. He said to himself that he must wait until he knew her longer and had wooed her more. She was not to be lightly won, this beautiful gifted girl. She was proud and sensitive. He would have to bide his time.