“Oh, oh, you shouldn’t! But how nice of you, all the same! I love compliments,” confessed pretty Hope, blushing in bewitching fashion between gratification and embarrassment. She looked at Avice in her turn, and decided that she was not at all pretty. But, oh, what clothes! What a dream of a hat! What distracting ruffles and laces peeping from between the sables! What twinkling lights of diamond brooches! She paused for a moment to do obeisance before a vision of herself clad in similar garments, then continued, with a smile, “I am so glad to meet you! It feels lonely to be absolutely without friends in this great London, and so far we know no one at all.”
“You are the musical one, aren’t you?” Avice asked curiously. “You are all geniuses, father says, and determined to make a name in the world. Have you begun work? What have you done so far?”
Hope smiled with pardonable satisfaction.
“Well, really, I think we have made a good start. Theo has interviewed one of the most influential editors in Fleet Street, and has been asked to send MSS to his paper. Madge has sent in her two show-pictures to the Slade School, and is to begin regular work there at the half-term. Meantime she is studying the different exhibitions and collections, and, as she says, picking up ‘quite valuable hints’ from old masters. She is so amusing! She comes home every evening with absurd accounts of her adventures. Most people would find it rather dull spending a whole day at the National Gallery, for instance, but Madge has the faculty of finding amusement wherever she goes, and, even apart from the pictures, has a dozen little histories and romances to recount.”
“Y-es,” assented Avice flatly. She herself had little sense of humour, and was by no means prepossessed by the plain, elf-like figure of her youngest cousin Hope, on the contrary, was graceful and charming, and had been already mentally adopted as the friend of the future. “What are you doing?” she asked, with an interest which could not fail to be flattering, and Hope moved her chair a trifle closer with an impulse of girlish confidence.
“Oh, I am getting on so well! I have had my first lesson in harmony, and my master is so kind and encouraging. He seems to think that I know a great deal already, and his work is so interesting. In the mornings I study and practise, and in the afternoons I try to hear as much music as I can. I go to cheap seats at concerts and recitals, or to service at the Abbey or Saint Paul’s. And fancy! I have had a commission to write a song for a professional—a real professional—a lady who sings at concerts all over the country. You may know her name—Miss Minnie Caldecott.”
Yes, Avice knew it quite well, and was duly impressed by the news. She passed it on to her mother, who was sitting silently criticising the details of the room, while her husband talked to the older girls. She also appeared impressed, and expressed a desire to hear Hope perform one of her own compositions. Accordingly the piano was opened, and the girl sang, not one song, but two, so that her relations might appreciate the variety of her style: first the graceful and would-be classical setting to the words which Miss Minnie had despised, and then the more taking, if less high-class, “domestic” ditty. Mrs Loftus had little of the maternal instinct in her composition, but even her hard face softened as Hope’s fresh voice sang the sweet, simple words. Uncle Loftus cried “Bravo! bravo!” and Avice opened wide surprised eyes. Mrs Loftus put up her eyeglasses and examined the singer in critical fashion. So young; so pretty; so exceptionally gifted! Really, the girl would be a useful addition to an evening’s entertainment or a house-party in the country. She made a mental note that Hope was the “presentable” member of the family, then rose to take her departure, murmuring society nothings as she shook hands with Philippa, and checking Avice’s farewell words with a warning frown.
“Oh yes, we must arrange to meet again. I will look over our list. Don’t make any plans to-day, dear; you are so overdone with engagements.”
She rustled to the door, followed by her obedient spouse, who was allowed no time to speak, but instead delivered himself of a succession of mysterious nods and smiles, which left the girls in a state of amused mystification. The explanation was, however, speedily forthcoming, for ten minutes had not elapsed after the departure of the three when a second bell sounded, and there stood Mr Loftus, erect and self-confident, a man on his own account, with no overwhelming feminine element to keep him in the background.
“Back again like a bad penny!” he cried jocosely. “Just a word to say to you, my dears—a word in your ears. Put the ladies into the carriage, and went on ‘to my club.’ He, he! Useful things, clubs! About that boy, now. Don’t approve of your spending capital—never approved of that, you know—but pleased to help you all the same. Edgar’s children. Yes! Ought to give you a lift. Fifteen—eh? Young to leave school, but can’t be helped, I suppose. Was speaking to Spence the other day—most influential man—thinks he might take him in there. Eh? Insurance office—huge place—hundreds of clerks. Spence is manager. Always taking in new fellows. What do you think of that—eh?”