Foker’s mamma, from her place, surveying her darling boy, was surprised at his vivacity. Harry talked constantly to his fair neighbour about the topics of the day.
“Seen Taglioni in the Sylphide, Miss Amory? Bring me that souprame of Volile again if you please (this was addressed to the attendant near him), very good: can’t think where the souprames come from; what becomes of the legs of the fowls, I wonder? She’s clipping in the Sylphide, ain’t she?” and he began very kindly to hum the pretty air which pervades that prettiest of all ballets, now faded into the past with that most beautiful and gracious of all dancers. Will the young folks ever see anything so charming, anything so classic, anything like Taglioni?
“Miss Amory is a sylph herself,” said Mr. Pen.
“What a delightful tenor voice you have, Mr. Foker,” said the young lady. “I am sure you have been well taught. I sing a little myself. I should like to sing with you.”
Pen remembered that words very similar had been addressed to himself by the young lady, and that she had liked to sing with him in former days. And sneering within himself, he wondered with how many other gentlemen she had sung duets since his time? But he did not think fit to put this awkward question aloud: and only said, with the very tenderest air which he could assume, “I should like to hear you sing again, Miss Blanche. I never heard a voice I liked so well as yours, I think.”
“I thought you liked Laura’s,” said Miss Blanche.
“Laura’s is a contralto: and that voice is very often out, you know,” Pen said, bitterly. “I have heard a great deal of music, in London,” he continued. “I’m tired of those professional people—they sing too loud—or I have grown too old or too blase. One grows old very soon, in London, Miss Amory. And like all old fellows, I only care for the songs I heard in my youth.”
“I like English music best. I don’t care for foreign songs much. Get me some saddle of mutton,” said Mr. Foker.
“I adore English ballads, of all things,” said Miss Amory.
“Sing me one of the old songs after dinner, will you?” said Pen, with an imploring voice.