“In more than quartets. She is to perform a duet with me.”
“Oh, is that what you are thinking of? Isn’t it a little conspicuous? These things are all very well in a drawing-room—but on a public platform!”
“Mother—it is to amuse the poor.”
“Oh, yes. I know what you mean with your amusements for the poor. You amuse yourselves very much first of all, and then you call it an act of charity. I am not a great person for amusing the poor. It would not amuse me at all to go out in a cold night and listen to your concert, and I don’t think a woman of my age in the back slums would like it a bit better. We would both prefer our fireside and our work.”
“But suppose the poor creature had no fire, Mrs. Harwood?”
“Then give her some firing, which would be far more sensible. She wants coals, and you give her a song. Of course you will do it your own way. Singing to them is the fad of your generation. Coals and groceries have always been mine.”
“But about this duet,” said Meredith, with an indulgent smile.
“As for it being conspicuous,” said Gussy, “that is nonsense, mamma: for people sing according as their voices suit, and not for any other reason. And Charley and I are such old friends. We surely may sing together.”
“Or do anything else together,” he said.
“Oh! have it your own way,” said Mrs. Harwood. “It is quite useless for me to interfere.”