Mr. Pelham, as he turned with Charity to the piano, felt a sudden wrath at the man—a man much older than himself—who had the insolence to pretend to claim that slim girl.
A little later he made his way to the sofa, where Marjorie was sitting with Mrs. Lytchett. That lady, full of kindliness to Marjorie, fully intending to chaperon her during the winter to all the festivities, yet liked to remind her pretty frequently of her, as yet, unintroduced and unimportant condition. The skirmishes between them were hot; and Marjorie had just flashed out, "After all, mother has her wits, even if she has to lie on her sofa," when Mr. Pelham said:
"The Bishop has asked me to persuade Miss Bethune to play to us."
"Yes, Marjorie, go and play one of your little pieces," Mrs. Lytchett said, dismissing Marjorie and her flash of temper as she would have sent off a child.
Marjorie got up immediately.
"No, thank you," she said, sitting down before the piano, and smiling up at Mr. Pelham standing beside her. "My little pieces are here," lifting slightly the slender hands resting on her knee.
Wondering what this girl could have to say in such a language, unwilling to hear anything crude or jarring that should spoil the perfection of simplicity he was beginning to see in her, Mr. Pelham moved aside, his eyes resting disappointedly on her bent head. She raised her hands, and struck the opening notes.
The Bishop sank down into a large chair near, with a soft sigh. The buzz of conversation slowly died away. A delicate melody, in some unaccustomed minor mode, stole through the vaulted room, and Mr. Pelham drew a breath of relief. He need not have feared. There was nothing crude or jarring here.
After a few minutes her hands fell, with the lingering soft repetition of an unfinished phrase, and Marjorie lifted her eyes, liquid and dreamy with the thoughts that filled her mind. They met a look from dark unfamiliar eyes, never again through all her life to seem to her as the eyes of a stranger. They held her own, fascinated, arrested, almost like a voice speaking through the silence.
Her lips parted, as with a soft little sigh, her eyes fell.