Mrs. Beauchamp rose with a smile which had more of sadness than of mirth, glanced at her husband, and permitted De Vaux to conduct her to a seat near the piano and to bring her guitar. The consul sat down at the piano, ran his fingers over the keys, touching soft chords, to which the guitar was brought into tune. Then to the accompaniment of the two instruments Mrs. Beauchamp sang in a voice, not strong, but sweet and sympathetic, a tender old English love song.
"By——! ... Bless my soul, I mean, it makes me homesick to hear those old songs!" exclaimed De Vaux, amidst the applause. His voice was high and trembling. There was a suspicious redness and moisture in his eyes. "I've been more than twenty years in this forgotten island. But when I hear Mrs. Beauchamp sing such a song as that I protest I want to take the first boat home. 'Pon my honour, I do!"
"Oh, no! You'll not go back to England just yet, De Vaux," said the consul. "We shouldn't know Formosa without you. But I'll tell you what you will do. You'll sing something for us yourself, will you not?"
"Yes, yes, De Vaux!" exclaimed several voices. "Do sing something. Sing 'Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep.'"
"That's De Vaux's Royal George," whispered McLeod to Sinclair. "He always sings that. But he won't sing it yet a while. He'll need a few more drinks first."
"'Pon my soul, it's awfully good of you to ask me! I do not profess to be a singer. Really! I do not.... But, since you have been so good as to ask me, I shall do my best, on one condition, that Mrs. Beauchamp will honour me by playing my accompaniment.... Mrs. Beauchamp, will you be so kind?" Another bow meant to be profound.
"Certainly, Mr. De Vaux, with pleasure."
In a voice which had once been a sweet tenor, but was now fat and breathless, he sang, "Silver Threads Among the Gold." He had to take a breath in the middle of every long note. As for the high ones, he just touched them. Then his breath failed him, leaving the audience to imagine the rest. But when he was rewarded with a round of applause he responded with an encore, "In the Gloaming." His head was becoming crimson with the effort. Perspiration streamed down his face and neck, in spite of the constant use of his handkerchief. His collar had melted and fallen limply against his coat. The starch of his shirt front had disappeared, leaving it but a crumpled rag.
Some of the guests were insisting on a third number, when the consul came to the rescue:
"This sort of thing mustn't go any further. If my wife and De Vaux continue singing such sentimental songs, they'll have us all homesick. We cannot afford to ship all the English residents of North Formosa by the Hailoong to-morrow. Just to change the current of your thoughts, I'll make a break and give you something different."