Читать книгу The Girl from Glengarry - Ralph Connor - Страница 6

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After the minister had gone and they had adjourned to the drawing-room, Jack burst out with emphatic gestures.

"That man is a walking fraud."

"Fraud?" Sylvia exclaimed. "Why Jack?"

"A fraud? Mr. Tempest," cried Miss Elizabeth plainly shocked.

"Fraud! The most complete--Look at that sweet innocent cherubic face. It simply invites you to pour forth all the bombastic and bally-ass ignorance you are capable of, with the sure conviction that you can get away with it. And then, with a smile he proceeds to disgorge his expert stuff that makes one feel the bally ass he is."

"Mr. Matheson is an excellent man," said Miss Elizabeth.

"Excellent! I should say! Why he told me more about stocks and bonds in fifteen minutes than I have learned in St. James Street in the last two years. And all behind that baby face of his!"

"I was glad, very glad indeed Mr. Tempest, to hear him speak of stock gambling as a noble calling," said Aunt Elizabeth.

"He? ah--not exactly--I mean you know not exactly stock gambling, Miss Murray."

"But he did say a noble calling, Sylvia, did he not?"

"Yes, Auntie, stock buying and selling--not stock gambling."

"Oh well, I shall certainly ask him about that," said Miss Elizabeth.

"But Auntie, he will be tired talking about stocks and bonds and things like that."

"Will he, then? We'll see," said Aunt Elizabeth.

"By Jove," muttered Jack, who with Sylvia was turning over a book of prints. I'm seeing ghosts and things! Say, that cherub had me scared cold."

"Oh, he is just a dear. Wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Fly? Perhaps not--but what about a mosquito or a cockroach, as some of us bonds and stocks men are."

"So bad?"

"Worse! I want to tell you there are stocks being pushed to-day and sold up into the thousands that are three parts wind."

"You don't sell those, Jack?" Sylvia's blue eyes were searching his face.

"Say, what about a little vocal exercise?" said Jack. "I hate to think of the dollars and dollars invested in your vocal chords bringing no return. It's a sinful waste!"

"Sing a little, Sylvia dear," said her Aunt.

Sylvia sang after much protestation some old songs, with Jack turning her music and making selection of his favorites. Sylvia's was no great voice, but her instructors had obviously been sound in taste and in technique, so that in her choice of songs, and in her style of singing, the result was altogether charming.

"Oh, here we are!" cried Jack. "This is a perfect gem. Will you do this?"

"Which one is that, Mr. Tempest?" enquired Miss Elizabeth, looking up from her solitaire.

"Oh this lovely old canzonet of Haydn's: 'My Mother Bids me Bind my Hair.'--A really perfect song and just written for you."

"But I don't do the accompaniment," said Sylvia. "My teacher always played that for me."

"Couldn't I do it for you?" said Aunt Elizabeth, coming to the piano.

"Not without practice, darling," said Sylvia. "The accompaniment means so much and the voice and piano must go together quite perfectly."

"Quite right," said Jack with emphasis, "but I happen to know this--used to play for a friend of mine. Try me out. You hum it while I run it over."

"I don't believe I could. You see it must be done exactly right, I mean--I--would likely spoil the rhythm and--"

But Jack was already at the piano, humming the air while from his fingers the exquisitely delicate accompaniment flowed like a rippling sunlit rivulet.

"Oh how lovely!" said Sylvia, humming with him.

"There, I'll try not to ruin it," said Jack.

"Oh, but you won't, I just feel we can do it," cried Sylvia, her lovely face eager with delight.

Not often is this exquisite, dainty creation of Haydn's rendered with the simplicity, the restraint, the perfect regard for rhythm which it demands. But such was the perfection of sympathetic harmony in expression, in rhythm between voice and piano, that when the song ended on its exquisitely delicate final notes "a-way," with the two pianissimo staccato concluding notes, Jack seized her hands in his and cried:

"Oh my dear! my dear! How lovely! How perfect!" And sat silent bending over the keys.

"And yet not quite perfect," he added. "I spoiled it a bit."

"No no, I never sang it so well!" insisted Sylvia.

"No! I really believe you can do it better. You know I dominated you. I was leading you. You see I didn't trust you utterly. I am afraid to ask you to do it again. And yet--and yet--I should love to try it. And let me suggest a touch or two, will you? See just here, on the words 'or creep' you must c-r-e-e-p a little more. But in the next verse, on the words, 'or dead', first time, a very short hold, second time longer--like this--" and he hummed over the phrases, "And those last broken, breathless words 'is--a-way--is a-way--' you understand. What do you think?"

"You are right, exactly right," cried Sylvia with enthusiasm. "Let me try--" She hummed the words.

"Perfect, oh just perfect!" said Jack. "Now listen to what I tell you," he added solemnly. "You forget all about me and my accompaniment. Put your heart into the girl's heart. Perhaps you don't want to try?"

"But I do! I want to!" cried the girl, her face pale, her eyes aglow.

"Well look at the words again. Think of, see, hear that lovely, lonely girl and her misunderstanding mother. And when you are ready let me know."

Sylvia took up the music and read slowly the quaint old-fashioned words, set the music quietly back upon the piano and stood waiting.

"Now for heaven's sake, forget the piano," Jack urged in a low voice.

"Go on," she said quietly, and from under his fingers the soft ripple of notes began to flow.

Jack's suggestions produced their full effect. The voice assumed command and held it throughout, the accompaniment sustaining, stressing, echoing but never dominating or intruding. The effect was altogether delightful. The gentle pathos, the poignantly sweet, heart-breaking appeal breathed, sobbed, whispered through the steady flowing stream of the girl's pure, clear tones, straight to the hearts of her hearers.

"Sylvia dear!" cried her Aunt coming to her. "What is it?"

The girl's eyes were full of unshed tears. She turned and looked at her aunt in dumb wonder.

"I--was--thinking--of the poor little girl," she said. Then after a moment of silence, "Oh I am just silly," she cried and turned away from the piano.

"Silly!" muttered Jack. "By Jove what art! Or is it art? And a voice too! What a voice! You'd draw blood from a stone! Oh, if they could only have heard you!"

"Who Jack?" asked the girl in surprise.

"Oh that gang of music butchers in the city, with their airs and their arts and graces. But could you do it again?"

"Perhaps, if you were playing, Jack," she replied simply. "And if I could see the poor little girl again."

"By Jove, I'd like to try it!" said Jack, as if to himself. "And yet I don't know. But I'll never forget this night. And now I'm away home."

"You will wait for coffee, Mr. Tempest," urged Aunt Elizabeth. "Mr. Matheson will be sure to be in very soon now."

"And more stocks and bonds. No, no, not for me--not to-night--thank you, Miss Murray. Do please ask me again. I want to come."

"Oh, do come again," cried Sylvia in a quick warm voice.

Her Aunt cast a sharp glance at her niece's face and her lips drew close in a firm line.

"We are very simple people here, Mr. Tempest," she said with quiet dignity, "but we shall always be glad to see you. Of course, it is a long drive, and you must be--very fully occupied."

"Ask me," pleaded Jack. "Just ask me. But why could not Miss Sylvia--you and Miss Sylvia come to town some evening--say Saturday, and stay the week-end with us?" The young man's voice was seriously eager.

"What, Sunday?" exclaimed Miss Elizabeth.

"Not Sunday, Jack," said Sylvia. "You see I have my class."

"Your class?"

"Yes, my boys you know."

"Oh--oh yes--ah of course--they would certainly hate it I guess--Well some other night."

"I'd love to," said Sylvia simply.

"Thank you Mr. Tempest. Some time--Yes--we--will see--later," said Miss Elizabeth, but only with careful enthusiasm.

Her niece looked at her in quick surprise. Something of the eager light died in her eyes, but she said no word. They accompanied their guest to the door and stood in the radiant glory of the May moon while he got his car going.

"And you won't forget that 'creep,' Miss Sylvia," he said leaning out through the window.

"Oh no no! never!" she cried, running out close to the car.

"Good night again," said Jack offering his hand. The girl took his hand in a warm firm grasp.

"Good-night, Jack!" she said softly.

"What a night!" he said looking up at the moon. "What a night!" he said again, looking into the lovely face so near him. "I shall never forget this night, Sylvia. Oh Sylvia, will you?"

Her hands went swiftly to her breast. "No--oh, no, no, Jack, I shall never forget," she whispered.