"If you would rather not," said Miss McQuinch, shamed into remorse, "I will try the accompaniment. But I am sure to play it all wrong."
"I think Miss McQuinch had better play," said Douglas.
Conolly looked at Marian; received a rea.s.suring glance; and went to the platform with her without further ado. She was not a sympathetic accompanist; but, not knowing this, she was not at all put out by it.
She felt too that she was, as became a lady, giving the workman a lesson in courtesy which might stand him in stead when he next accompanied "Rose, softly blooming." She was a little taken aback on finding that he not only had a rich baritone voice, but was, as far as she could judge, an accomplished singer.
"Really," she said as they left the platform, "you sing most beautifully."
"One would hardly have expected it," he said, with a smile.
Marian, annoyed at having this side of her compliment exposed, did not return the smile, and went to her chair in the green-room without taking any further notice of him.
"I congratulate you," said Mrs. Leith Fairfax to Conolly, looking at him, like all the rest except Douglas, with a marked access of interest.
"Ah! what wonderful depth there is in Gounod"s music!"
He a.s.sented politely with a movement of his head.
"I know nothing at all about music," said Mrs. Fairfax.
"Very few people do."
"I mean technically, of course," she said, not quite pleased.
"Of course."
A tremendous burst of applause here followed the conclusion of the first verse of "Uncle Ned."
"_Do_ come and listen, Nelly," said Marian, returning to the door. Mrs.
Fairfax and Conolly presently went to the door too.
"Would you not like to help in the chorus, Nelly?" said Marian in a low voice, as the audience began to join uproariously in the refrain.
"Not particularly," said Miss McQuinch.
"Sholto," said Marian, "come and share our vulgar joy. We want you to join in the chorus."
"Thank you," said Douglas, "I fear I am too indifferent a vocalist to do justice to the occasion."
"Sing with Mr. Conolly and you cannot go wrong," said Miss McQuinch.
"Hush," said Marian, interposing quickly lest Douglas should retort.
"There is the chorus. Shall we really join?"
Conolly struck up the refrain without further hesitation. Marian sang with him. Mrs. Fairfax and the clergyman looked furtively at one another, but forbore to swell the chorus. Miss McQuinch sang a few words in a piercing contralto voice, and then stopped with a gesture of impatience, feeling that she was out of tune. Marian, with only Conolly to keep her in countenance, felt relieved when Marmaduke, thrice encored, entered the room in triumph. Whilst he was being congratulated, Douglas turned to Miss McQuinch, who was pretending to ignore Marmaduke"s success.
"I hope, Miss McQuinch," he said in a low tone, "that you will be able to relieve Marian at the piano next time. You know how she dislikes having to play accompaniments for strangers."
"How mean it is of you to be jealous of a plumber!" said Miss McQuinch, with a quick glance at him which she did not dare to sustain, so fiercely did he return it.
When she looked again, he seemed unconscious of her presence, and was b.u.t.toning his overcoat.
"Really going at last, Sholto?" said Marian. Douglas bowed.
"I told you you wouldnt be able to stand it, old man," said Marmaduke.
"Mrs. Bluestockings wont be pleased with you for not staying to hear her recite." This referred to Mrs. Fairfax, who had just gone upon the platform.
"Good night," said Miss McQuinch, shortly, anxious to test how far he was offended, but unwilling to appear solicitous for a reconciliation.
"Until to-morrow, farewell," he said, approaching Marian, who gave him her hand with a smile: Conolly looking thoughtfully at him meanwhile. He left the room; and so, Mrs. Fairfax having gone to the platform to recite, quiet prevailed for a few minutes.
"Shall I have the pleasure of playing the accompaniment to your next song?" said Conolly, sitting down near Marian.
"Thank you," said Marian, shrinking a little: "I think Miss McQuinch knows it by heart." Then, still anxious to be affable to the workman, she added, "Lord Jasper says you are a great musician."
"No, I am an electrician. Music is not my business: it is my amus.e.m.e.nt."
"You have invented something very wonderful, have you not?"
"I have discovered something, and I am trying to invent a means of turning it to account. It will be only a cheap electro-motor if it comes to anything."
"You must explain that to me some day, Mr. Conolly. I"m afraid I dont know what an electro-motor means."
"I ought not to have mentioned it," said Conolly. "It is so constantly in my mind that I am easily led to talk about it. I try to prevent myself, but the very effort makes me think of it more than ever."
"But I like to hear you talk about it," said Marian. "I always try to make people talk shop to me, and of course they always repay me by trying to keep on indifferent topics, of which I know as much--or as little--as they."
"Well, then," said Conolly, "an electro-motor is only an engine for driving machinery, just like a steam engine, except that it is worked by electricity instead of steam. Electric engines are so imperfect now that steam ones come cheaper. The man who finds out how to make the electric engine do what the steam engine now does, and do it cheaper, will make his fortune if he has his wits about him. Thats what I am driving at."
Miss Lind, in spite of her sensible views as to talking shop, was not interested in the least. "Indeed!" she said. "How interesting that must be! But how did you find time to become so perfect a musician, and to sing so exquisitely?"
"I picked most of it up when I was a boy. My grandfather was an Irish sailor with such a tremendous voice that a Neapolitan music master brought him out in opera as a _buffo_. When he had roared his voice away, he went into the chorus. My father was reared in Italy, and looked more Italian than most genuine natives. He had no voice; so he became first accompanist, then chorus master, and finally trainer for the operatic stage. He speculated in an American tour; married out there; lost all his money; and came over to England, when I was only twelve, to resume his business at Covent Garden. I stayed in America, and was apprenticed to an electrical engineer. I worked at the bench there for six years."
"I suppose your father taught you to sing."
"No. He never gave me a lesson. The fact is, Miss Lind, he was a capital man to teach stage tricks and traditional renderings of old operas; but only the exceptionally powerful voices survived his method of teaching.
He would have finished my career as a singer in two months if he had troubled himself to teach me. Never go to Italy to learn singing."
"I fear you are a cynic. You ought either to believe in your father or else be silent about him."
"Why?"
"Why! Surely we should hide the failings of those we love? I can understand now how your musical and electrical tastes became mixed up; but you should not confuse your duties. But please excuse me:"
(Conolly"s eyes had opened a little wider) "I am lecturing you, without the least right to. It is a failing of mine which you must not mind."
"Not at all. Youve a right to your opinion. But the world would never get on if every practical man were to stand by his father"s mistakes.
However, I brought it on myself by telling you a long story. This is the first opportunity I ever had of talking about myself to a lady, and I suppose I have abused it."
Marian laughed. "We had better stop apologizing to one another," she said. "What about the accompaniments to our next songs?"