Ralph Merrilies looked at her in silent astonishment. He had taken for granted that, as the niece of the wealthy Mr Loftus, Hope Charrington occupied the same position in society. Man-like, he had noticed none of the signs of poverty in her attire which were plain as print to feminine eyes. What if her attire was always of the simplest description? She invariably looked better than any other girl in the room. If one solitary dress did duty every evening, a new arrangement of laces transformed it in his eyes; and if she wore no jewels, the round white throat and arms looked all the better for their lack of adornment. It gave him a shock of surprise to hear her speak of making her own livelihood.
“Do you really mean that?” he asked gravely; and in reply Hope gave him a short biographical sketch, which explained the present position of the family. “So you see I am responsible for a share of our expenses,” she said in conclusion, “and it is not so easy to earn as I expected. I thought I should have little difficulty in getting songs published, but I find it is very difficult indeed; and even if I sold one or two in the year, they would bring in very little, so I must find something that is more certain. I should make a good accompanist, for I can read at sight and transpose as I go, and know when to humour a singer and when to pull him up. But the difficulty is to find an opening. I do hope that I may not be reduced to giving lessons! That would be a real trial of patience, and the prospect is so hopelessly limited.”
“Oh, you must not give lessons! That would never do,” said Ralph, drawing his brows together in a disapproving frown. That she should need to work at all was an idea still disagreeably new. “You speak of becoming an accompanist. What does that mean exactly! Is there an opening for accompaniment playing, apart from taking a more prominent place in a programme?”
“Oh yes. Professionals often insist upon having their own accompanists, for it is so easy for a stranger to spoil their effects. Even among amateurs they are occasionally required. Suppose a lady gets up a concert for charity, or gives a musical ‘At Home,’ or has private theatricals, it is an immense help to have some one who can play for all the performers alike, improvise a few bars if things go wrong, and fill up awkward gaps by appropriate ‘selections.’ That is the work which would suit me best, if I could make a start and become fairly well-known.”
“I see. Yes, as you explain it, there certainly is an opening in that direction; but forgive me for saying that the position seems too subordinate for your talent. Why should you not sing yourself? You would be better paid, and it seems to me that you are very well fitted to do so.”
Hope shook her head with pathetic candour.
“No. My voice is not strong enough. I am a fair amateur, but most people can find friends to sing for them quite as well as I could do; and if they hire professionals at all, they want something better—a beautiful voice like Minnie Caldecott’s, for instance. As you said yourself the day I arrived, it is a fastidious age, and mediocrity cannot hope for success.”
“Did I say that? What a singularly unhappy remark! You must forgive it, please, because of course I had no idea what was in your mind. I don’t think, however, that you ought to use the word ‘mediocre.’ It is more a question of appropriateness. Your voice may not be suited for big entertainments—and, to speak quite frankly, I can hardly imagine your facing such an ordeal—but surely there are quieter ways of setting to work. What about children, now—children’s parties? My little nieces have a party every year, and it is a serious business to find a change from the everlasting conjurer and magic-lantern. Could you not find some songs which they would like to hear?”
He looked at her inquiringly, and Hope stood still in the middle of the lane and stared at him with kindling eyes. “Children!” she whispered beneath her breath—“children!”
It was the prettiest thing in the world to see the different emotions chase each other over the sweet face: surprise first, and puzzled questioning; then the gradual dawning of an idea, the flush of radiant triumph.