Chapter XVII
Marion
PHILIP went home in high spirits, and the little party rejoiced over his success and congratulated and complimented him ecstatically. Lillie and Rose had heard enough of his Milanese triumph to predict the most wonderful success for him, and revelled in anticipation of the glory which would crown his appearance. Their rapture was complete when the postman brought a box-order to Philip for his friends; and although Dr. Norton was known to be strict in prohibiting evening entertainments to his younger daughters while they were still in the care of a governess, Aunt Delia ventured to promise that just this once they should attend.
Two or three days before the concert, Philip, coming into the house after a rehearsal, felt as if he should like to spend a quiet hour dreaming over the music he was to play at the great concert. It was, perhaps, one secret of his wonderful power over his listeners that when a composition pleased him, he would think of it, dream of it, and let it absorb his whole soul, the strains throbbing through his inner consciousness as vividly as if they were actual sounds falling upon his ear.
Quietly, that he need not be seized upon by his lively cousins, he stepped into the darkened parlor and groped his way to a vast easy-chair, whose luxuriously cushioned depths invited repose of mind and body; sinking into it, he covered his eyes with his hands and began to recall the harmony he had just rehearsed. But a murmur of voices broke the silence—Lillie’s and another fresh and young like hers, but unfamiliar. He suspected that it might be his cousin Marion, and the next words convinced him that it was. She had returned while he was absent, and, with Lillie, was discussing the things that had happened during their separation. Rose had been attacked by a sudden feverish cold, and Aunt Delia had sent them downstairs, fearing their chatter might disturb her.
“Poor Rosy! I’m sorry she’s sick,” Philip heard, in the voice that was new to him.
“Yes, it is very hard for her,” responded Lillie. “Particularly as she was so anxious to go to the concert and hear Philip.”
“How you all rave about Philip!” said Marion. “You and Aunt Delia, and even Miss Acton, have talked about him ever since I came into the house.”
“Yes,” admitted Lillie, “we are all devoted to him; and oh, Marion, he is so charming, so beautiful, so talented, every one is wild about him! You have heard about his wonderful triumph at La Scala; and now the duchess has taken him up, and seems to be infatuated about him, and the manager prophesies that he will be the greatest success of the season. He is so perfectly modest about himself, too, I long to have you see him. I am sure you will become just as proud of him as we are.”
What blessed words were these for the happy listener to hear!—for he did hear them, without even a thought of the impropriety of listening to a conversation between people who supposed themselves alone. The delight of learning that his relatives gloried in the honors paid to the son of one who had once been called a disgrace to the family so entranced him that he was unconscious of everything else. He listened eagerly for Marion’s reply, losing for a moment the ever-present recollection of her old disdain of him. Her answer came in clear, cold tones that cut him like a knife.