Chapter VI

Never was a prophecy better fulfilled than that of Rathborne; for no one of the large company assembled in Mrs. Singleton's spacious drawing-room but felt prepared to admire and approve the beautiful young stranger, who was led to the piano by her host when the musical programme was about half over. Everybody had an instinct that the star of the evening had now appeared--that one who looked so proud and confident was not likely to entertain them with a mediocre performance. And, indeed, Marion, who had professed to scorn "all Scarborough," was sufficiently inspired by her audience to feel capable of doing her best. As the first notes of the accompaniment were struck, she threw back her head like one who answers to a challenge; and when she opened her lips such a tide of melody rose, such crystal-clear notes, such a flood of pure, sweet sound, that even the lowest undertone of conversation stopped, and people held their breath to listen.

Rathborne, who had been late in arriving, and who stood just outside one of the open windows, conveniently sheltered from observation, smiled to himself as he watched the scene within. It was one which gave him as much pleasure as his nature was capable of feeling. That beautiful, stately figure beside the piano, with its regal bearing and crown of red-gold hair, deserved to be the center of all attention; and suited his own taste so exactly that he did not even perceive Helen's sweet, smiling face near by. It did not surprise him that Marion sang as he had never heard her sing before. He had read her character accurately enough, by the light of his own, to feel sure that she would never fail when occasion called for display.

His glance swept around the apartment, taking in the expressions of the various faces, and finally fastening on one that was partly sheltered behind a curtain at the end of the room. This curtain fell between the drawing-room and a smaller apartment opening from it. Now and then during the course of the evening a few of the oldest and most distinguished of Mrs. Singleton's guests were admitted to the smaller apartment, where it was understood that "old Mr. Singleton" was established to listen to the music at his ease. It must have been very much at his ease that he listened; for he had given no sign of his presence or appreciation until now, when--as if Marion's clear, ringing notes had been a spell--Rathborne observed at the opening of the curtain a thin face, with a high, aquiline nose and white moustache.

Mrs. Singleton also observed it; and as soon as the song was ended, leaving others to crowd around the singer and express their admiration, she walked to the curtained arch and exchanged a few words with the person sheltered behind it. Then, turning, she crossed the room and deftly made her way to Marion's side.

"My dear Miss Lynde," she exclaimed, "what a pleasure you have given us! What a delight to hear such a voice as yours! My uncle is charmed, and he begs that you will sing again. Of course we all beg that you will, but I give _his_ request first, because it is a very great compliment--from him."

It was certainly a compliment which he had paid no one else; and Marion smiled with a sense of triumph. She preserved due modesty of manner and appearance, however, as she said: "I am exceedingly glad that I have been able to give pleasure to Mr. Singleton; perhaps there is some special song that he would like to hear?"

"Oh! I am sure he will like to hear anything that you sing," replied Mrs. Singleton, who did not wish to delay the amusement of the evening long enough to make inquiry.

So Marion sang again, with increased self-confidence and success; and the thin, keen face appeared again at the opening of the curtains, as if looking were no less a pleasure than listening.

But, this song over, Mrs. Singleton was too wise a hostess to encourage any request for a third. "We must not ask too much of Miss Lynde's kindness," she said. "Later in the evening, perhaps she will sing for us again; and we must be reasonable. Miss Royston is going to play for us now."

Miss Royston, a tall, angular young lady, whose elbows seemed unduly developed, took her seat on the piano-stool, struck a few crashing cords, and began a sonata. Being fresh from a conservatory of music, and having a severely classical taste, she was understood to be a very fine musician--a fact taken on trust by most of those who composed her present audience; but very soon a conversational murmur began to be heard; those who were near windows slipped out on the veranda "to enjoy the cool air while they listened," and there was no longer any glimpse of the aquiline nose and white moustache at the opening of the _portières_.

Marion, who had not been conscious of this brief, partial appearance of the invalid recluse, for whose amusement the entertainment had been arranged, whispered to Helen, by whom she sat down: "I wonder how Mr. Singleton likes this?"

"Not as well as your singing, I am sure," answered Helen, in the same tone; "for all the time you were singing he was looking at you from behind those curtains yonder."

"Was he indeed?" said Marion. She looked at the now closed, unresponsive curtains with a quick glance of interest. "What does he look like? I wish I had seen him."

"When you sing again, glance over there and you will certainly be gratified," said Helen. "But here comes Paul at last. He has missed your singing; is not that too bad?"

"I doubt very much if he considers it so," replied Marion. "He has heard me several times and never expressed any particular pleasure, that I remember."

"That is Paul's way," said Helen, eagerly. "It is hard to tell what he feels by what he expresses. He admires your voice very much. I am sure of that."

"What is it you are so sure of, Helen?" asked Rathborne, who had drawn near enough to hear the last words through the crash of the piano.

"That you are very sorry not to have heard Marion's singing," answered Helen, looking up into his face with a smile.

"I should certainly have been very sorry if I had not heard it," he said; "but, as it happens, I had that pleasure. And it was just as I expected," he added, turning to Marion. "You sang as I never heard you sing before. An audience inspires you--an occasion calls forth all your power."

She laughed softly. "Perhaps it was not the audience or the occasion so much as the consciousness of Mr. Singleton's presence, and a desire to evoke some sign of interest from a critic who buries himself in silence behind drawn curtains."

"Well, if so, you evoked it. I congratulate you upon that."

"Helen was just telling me that he vouchsafed a glimpse of himself during my song. I wish I had seen him. I have a curiosity to know what he is like."

"Like a very ordinary old man," observed Rathborne, carelessly. "But here comes Mrs. Singleton--to tell us, perhaps, that we should not be talking while the music is going on."

So far from that, Mrs. Singleton began at once to talk herself, in a discreetly lowered tone. "Miss Lynde," she said, "I hope you have no objection to making the acquaintance of my uncle? He has asked me to bring you in to see him. He is an old man, you know, and an invalid, so you will excuse his not coming to see _you_."

"I shall be delighted to go to him," answered Marion, with ready courtesy and grace.

So the entire company were surprised and interested to see their hostess leading the young stranger across the room to the jealously-guarded inner apartment where Mr. Singleton was secluded. All eyes followed them curiously, and lingered on the curtains, which Mrs. Singleton held back for a moment while Marion passed within, and then let fall.

Marion's own curiosity and gratification were equally balanced. It was like a public triumph to be led in this manner behind these curtains, which had opened for no other of the performers of the evening. Evidently this rich and presumably fastidious old man was to be included in the number of those who recognized her to be something more than ordinary. The instant that the _portières_ were drawn back, she looked eagerly into the apartment thus revealed.

It was smaller than the drawing-room behind her, and was luxuriously furnished. The light which filled it was softly toned and shaded, but quite brilliant enough to show all the variety of silken-covered chairs and couches, the richly-blended tints of Eastern rugs, the carved tables and stands covered with books and papers. Sunk in the depths of one of the easiest of these easy-chairs was a small, slight man; his wasted face, with its high, distinct features, snowy hair, and moustache, thrown into relief against the back of the chair on which he leaned. His hands, which rested on its arms, were like pieces of delicate ivory carving, and his whole appearance spoke as distinctly of refinement as of ill health. Seated opposite him was an old gentleman, whose robust aspect was in strong contrast with his own, and who was talking in a tone which showed that he took no heed of the music in the next room.

He paused and rose at sight of the two ladies; but Mr. Singleton did not stir, though Marion felt his bright, keen eyes fastened on her at once. She followed her hostess, who went forward to his chair.

"Here is Miss Lynde, who has come to see you, uncle," said that lady.

"It is very kind of Miss Lynde," replied Mr. Singleton, with the air of the old school--that air which a younger generation has lost and forgotten. He held out his hand, and, when Marion laid her own in it, looked at her with an admiration to which she had always been accustomed, and an evident pleasure in the contemplation of so much beauty. "Will you sit down?" he said, after a moment, indicating a low chair by his side. "I want you to tell me where you learned to sing so well."

"Where do the birds learn?" asked Marion, smiling. "I have sung like the birds as long as I can remember; although, of course, I have had some teaching. Not a great deal, however."

"It is a pity that you should not have more," he said. "Your voice, if fully trained, would be magnificent. But, as it is, you sing remarkably well; you have no vices of style, and you have given me a great deal of pleasure."

"I am very glad to have given you pleasure," answered Marion, with an air of gracious sincerity. "Mrs. Singleton has told me that you are very fond of music."

He made a slight grimace. "I am very fond of good music," he said; "but I do not hear a great deal of it from amateurs. When Anna told me of the entertainment she had arranged, I had little idea of hearing such a voice as yours."

Marion laughed. "While I was singing," she said, "I had something of the feeling which I imagine the singers must have who are obliged now and then to go through an opera in an empty theater, for the sole benefit of the King of Bavaria, who is invisible in his box."

"But you had plenty of visible listeners besides the invisible one," said Mr. Singleton.

"I thought nothing of them," she answered. "I was singing to _you_ altogether, and now I feel as if I had been summoned to the royal box to be complimented."

There was a playfulness in the words which deprived them of any appearance of flattery, yet it was evident that Mr. Singleton was not ill-pleased at being compared to royalty--even such eccentric royalty as that of the then living King of Bavaria.

"To carry out the comparison," he said, smiling, "I ought to have a diamond bracelet to clasp on your arm. Such are the substantial compliments of royalty. But, instead, I am going to ask a favor of you--a very great favor. Will you come some time and sing to me alone? I promise you that I will not be invisible on that occasion."

"I shall be very happy to do so," she answered, promptly. "It will be a real pleasure to myself. Tell me when I shall come."

"That must be settled hereafter. My health, and consequently my state of feeling, is very uncertain. Sometimes even music jars on me. Anna shall see you and arrange it."

Mrs. Singleton, hearing her name, turned from a conversation which she had been maintaining with the gentleman who was the other occupant of the room.

"What is it that I am to arrange?" she asked. "That Miss Lynde will come sometime and sing to us alone? Oh, that will be charming! But now I must go back to my duties, for I think I hear the sonata ending. Will you come with me?" she said to Marion.

"If my audience is ended," replied Marion, with a pretty smile, to Mr. Singleton.

"Your audience is not ended, if you do not mind remaining with an old man for a little while," he answered. "Anna can return or send for you when she wants you to entertain her guests again. Meanwhile I want you to entertain _me_."

"Before I go, then, I will introduce General Butler, and charge him to bring you back presently," said Mrs. Singleton, after which she disappeared.

General Butler, no less pleased than his friend with the charm of a beautiful face, sat down again, and said to Marion: "Your name is very familiar to me, Miss Lynde. I wonder if you are not a daughter of Herbert Lynde, who was killed at Seven Pines?"

"Yes," answered Marion, "I am his daughter, and always glad to meet his old friends. You knew him, then?"

"Oh! very well. He was in my brigade, and one of the bravest men I ever saw. I thought there was something familiar to me in your face as well as in your name. You are very like him."

"Herbert Lynde!" repeated Mr. Singleton. "If that was your father's name, my niece was right in thinking that there might be some relationship between us. The Singletons and those Lyndes have intermarried more than once. I hope that you do not object to acknowledging a distant link of cousinship with us?"

"So far from objecting, I am delighted to hear of it," answered Marion. "Who would not be delighted to find such cousins?"

There was something a little sad as well as ironic in the smile with which Mr. Singleton heard these words, as he extended his hand and laid it on hers.

"That sounds very cordial and sincere," he said. "I hope you may never find reason to qualify your delight. I confess I am glad to find that we are not altogether strangers. It gives me a faint, shadowy claim on your kind offices. I am not a man whom many things please. But you have pleased me, and I shall like to see you again."

"I shall like to come," answered Marion, "for my own pleasure as well as for yours. I am not easily pleased either," she added, with a smile; "so you must draw the inference."

"It is one I should like to be able to draw also," observed General Butler. "This is really too narrow. I cannot claim relationship, Miss Lynde; but remember I am an old friend of your family."

"Of mine, too, then," said Marion, holding out her hand to him. As he bent over it with a flattered air, she had a triumphant sense that it was a conclusive test of her power to be able to charm and influence men of the world and of mature experience like these.