"I am sorry I am engaged this afternoon," I said, with an instinct of self-preservation, without, however, having any definite idea of what Palestrina might say next.
"It is I who am engaged this afternoon," said my sister smiling, "and you are perfectly aware of that fact. Thomas is taking me down to Richmond to introduce me to his aunt. Besides, Hugo, you know you like music."
"I am very sorry, Palestrina," I said, "but it is quite impossible."
"Margaret is the Jamieson you like best," said Palestrina, "and I hate to think of your being here alone a whole afternoon. What were you thinking of doing?"
I had been thinking of going to this concert, and Palestrina guessed it, of course....
I was at the door of the concert hall at two-thirty in the afternoon, and found Mrs. Jamieson and Margaret and the young man already on the pavement, looking as if they had stood there for a considerable time. Mr. Swinnerton is a large, rather stupid-looking man, with a red face, a crooked nose, and curly hair. He wore a dark blue overcoat, so thick and strong that it reminded one of some encasement of plaster of Paris, or of some heavy coat of mail. His hands were covered in yellow dogskin gloves, equally unyielding, so that Mr. Swinnerton appeared deprived of any agility of movement by his garments. Mr. Swinnerton is in the volunteers, and has "Captain Swinnerton" printed on his cards. He gave me the idea of seeming to think that every action of his was some epoch-making event, and during the afternoon he frequently referred to having seen a picture then on view at one of the galleries, as though this were rather an up-to-date, not to say remarkable, proceeding. Margaret seemed a good deal impressed by his manner, and the Jamiesons had decided that he was "smart," which was a further and quite unnecessary addition to Mr. Swinnerton's vanity, and very bad for a gentleman of his complacent character.
He ushered us into the Queen's Hall in an important sort of way, which gave one the impression that the place belonged to him; and the fact that I was making a third in a party under his guidance convinced me that I was in some sort adding to his self-satisfaction. Mr. Swinnerton had chosen shilling places, because, as he informed us a great number of times, these were in the best position for hearing the music. Mrs. Jamieson was disappointed. In her class of life a treat is given on a more magnificent scale.
"Shall I sit next you, Mrs. Jamieson?" I said, for I believed that this was what I was intended to say; but Mr. Swinnerton remarked to Margaret, "I'll go next; I like to divide myself amongst the ladies."
Mrs. Jamieson looked uncomfortable in the small amount of space a shilling had procured for her, and she suggested apologetically that she would like a programme; but the music was beginning, and Mr. Swinnerton put up his large, stiff-gloved hand like a slab, and said, "Hush!"
We went faithfully through the orthodox Queen's Hall concert from the very first note to the "Ride of the Valkyries," and after every item on the programme our host turned to us, moving his whole body in his stout coat, and said, "Isn't that nice now?—very nice I call it!" still with an air of ownership.