“Oh, but, Effie, I am only going to practise accompaniments! I go to River Street for that, and you don’t mind. Why should you mind this? We never can get those difficult passages right without a proper, long, steady practice, and one can’t get it at the hall. Everybody is wanting their turn; and I get flurried with so much chattering and noise. I thought it such a good idea when Miss Lawrence asked me to come to the Manor.”
“She should have asked me too, then,” said Effie, with a pout. “Not that I care about going. I’m not such a great admirer of May Lawrence or her voice; it’s too low and gruff for me.”
“Oh, not gruff; it’s a beautiful, rich contralto. It’s quite a pleasure to hear her.”
“Oh, you think so because she likes your playing, and butters you up! But, anyhow, I don’t think much of it, and I do say she ought to have asked me too.”
“People know you are delicate; they don’t like to bother you to take long drives,” suggested Sheila pacifically; but Effie was cross and would not be amiable, though she ceased to make complaints about not being asked with Sheila to the Manor.
“How are you going?”
“I thought I would ride Shamrock. Then I should be quite independent. Cyril is going there for a day’s fishing, and he can bring me back.”
Again Effie’s face darkened. She did not say anything this time, but she had a feeling as though Sheila was cutting her out of everything. She was keenly alive to the fact that, though Cyril’s visits were paid more frequently now, it was Sheila who engrossed the bulk of his notice. Effie, with all her tendency to selfishness, fostered by her mode of life, had not naturally an ignoble disposition, and her ideals were high. She fought rather hard against the tide of rising jealousy, and had never betrayed it either to Sheila or to her mother; but the pain of seeing another preferred to herself rankled rather keenly; and during these past days—indeed for a week or two now—it had been hard work to keep down the unworthy feeling.
All the young people of Isingford were keenly excited about the forthcoming effort which was to extinguish the debt upon the two churches. All were eager to help, and Effie herself had been roused to desire to do something. She had practised with new energy, so as to be able to take part in the concert of local talent, and her song was already selected and placed in the programme. But she did not think anybody showed any enthusiasm over her performance. Perhaps her voice had deteriorated somewhat, though nobody said so. She was listened to quite kindly, and her friends said her song would be certain to “go down”; but that was all. Whereas, over May Lawrence’s performance there was a little furore, and she was entreated to sing twice, and was called quite openly the prima donna. Effie had not expected that title for herself, yet she was not quite pleased by the treatment she received.
And then Sheila was in such request. Sheila was so popular. It was quickly discovered that, though no very brilliant performer on the piano as a soloist, she had a very pretty gift for accompanying. Her touch was soft and sympathetic; she never played wrong notes, even if she missed the right ones. It became quite the usual thing for the soloists to beg her to play for them, and, as she was delighted to please and very fond of this sort of work, she soon became the acknowledged accompanist of the concert, and a person in great demand.