Evelyn Innes | Page 6

masses of the sixteenth century at St. Joseph's, and the interest of
this conversation delayed them a little in the passage.
The baronet's evening clothes were too well cut for those of a poet, a
designer of wall paper, or a journalist, and his hands were too white and
well cared for at the nails. His hair was pale brown, curling a little at
the ends, and carefully brushed and looking as if it had been freshened
by some faintest application of perfumed essence. Three pearl studs
fastened his shirt front, and his necktie was tied in a butterfly bow. He
displayed some of the nonchalant ease which wealth and position create,
smiled a little on catching sight of the jersey worn by a lady who had

neglected to fasten the back of her bodice, and strove to decipher the
impression the faces conveyed to him. He grew aware of that flitting
anxiety which is inseparable from the task of finding a daily living, and
that pathos which tells of fidelity to idea and abstinence from gross
pleasure. A young man, who stood apart, in a carefully studied attitude,
a dark lock of hair falling over his forehead, amused him, and the
young man in the chair next Sir Owen wore a threadbare coat and
clumsy boots, and sat bolt upright. Sir Owen pitied him and imagined
him working all day in some obscure employment, finding his life's
pleasure once a week in a score by Bach. Catching sight of a priest's
profile, a look of contempt appeared on his face.
He was of his class, he had lived its life and lived it still, in a measure,
but from the beginning his ideas and tastes had been superior to those
of a merely fashionable man. At five-and-twenty he had purchased a
Gainsborough, and at thirty he had spent a large sum of money in
exhuming some sonatas of Bach from the dust in which they were lying.
At three-and-thirty he had wrecked the career of a fashionable soprano
by inspiring her with the belief that she might become a great singer, a
great artist; at five-and-thirty Bayreuth and its world of musical culture
and ideas had interested him in spite of his unconquerable aversion to
long hair and dirty hands. After some association with geniuses he
withdrew from the art-world, confessing himself unable to bear the
society of those who did not dress for dinner; but while repudiating, he
continued to spy the art-world from a distance. An audience is,
however, necessary to a 'cello player, and the Turf Club and the Royal
Yacht Club contained not a dozen members, he said, who would
recognise the Heroica Symphony if they happened to hear it, which was
not likely. Lately he had declared openly that he was afraid of entering
any of his clubs, lest he should be asked once more what he thought of
the Spring Handicaps, and if he intended sailing the Medusa in the
Solent this season. Nevertheless, his journey to Bayreuth could not but
produce an effect. He had purchased the Wagnerian Review; it had led
him to Mr. Innes's concerts, and he was already interested in the
prospect of reviving the early music and its instruments. That this new
movement should be begun in Dulwich, a suburb he would never have
heard of if it had not been for its picture gallery, stimulated his

curiosity.
It is the variation, not the ordinary specimen, that is most typical, for
the variation contains the rule in essence, and the deviation elucidates
the rule. So in his revolt against the habitual pleasures and ideas of his
class, Sir Owen became more explanatory of that class than if he had
acquiesced in the usual ignorance of £20,000 a year. To the ordinary
eye he was merely the conventional standard of the English upper
classes, but more intimate observation revealed the slight glaze of
Bohemianism which natural inclination and many adventures in that
land had left upon him. He listened without parade, his grey eyes
following the music--they, not the head, seeming to nod to it; and when
Mr. Innes approached to ask him his opinion, he sprang to his feet to
tell him.
One of the pieces they had heard was a pavane for five viols and a
harpsichord, composed by Ferrabosco, son of the Italian musician who
had settled in Greenwich at the end of the sixteenth century. Sir Owen
was extraordinarily pleased and interested, and declared the pavane to
be as complete as a sonata by Bach or Beethoven; but his appreciation
was suddenly interrupted by someone looking at him.
At a little distance, Evelyn stood looking at him. The moment she had
seen him she had stopped, and her eyes were delighted as by a vision.
Though he